


Bad Agent

by greymadder (whatisausername)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Action, Anal Sex, But this story earns its rating in the first chapter, Canon-Typical Violence, Drinking, Eventual Smut, Flashbacks, Implied/Referenced Reaper/Soldier: 76, M/M, Masturbation, McCree's got it really bad though, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-27
Updated: 2016-09-01
Packaged: 2018-07-18 13:35:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 54,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7317358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatisausername/pseuds/greymadder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hanzo was a good agent - a proper agent. He was doing what a good agent did, which was ensuring the success of the mission, even at the expense of his own life. </p><p>The last thought on Jesse’s mind as he blacked out was that he could settle for being a terrible agent this time around.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Damn-Fuckin' Hell

**Author's Note:**

> honestly thanks with the intensity of ten thousand suns to missmoonbeam my lovely (AMAZING!!!!!) beta who kept me motivated and sane while working on this as it turned from a smutty oneshot into a slow burn monster
> 
> edit: blizzard came out and said that Hanzo's legs aren't prosthetics.. it was never really mentioned in my story, but I've changed several places where it was alluded to to make things more canon-compliant.

Jesse could hear the sound of gunfire pelting the cobblestone behind his heels as he ducked behind a corner. He dashed between the towering buildings of King’s Row, scanning the alleyway for somewhere high enough for him to quickly escape from his pursuer. The Overwatch agents that had been dispatched with him to this location were nowhere in sight - they’d been scattered from one another in an ambush. He’d felt it down to his bones, but the moment the warning left his lips they’d fallen under a rain of bullets and were forced to take cover.

He thought he’d seen Doctor Ziegler break a man’s jaw with the heel of her boot, right before Fareeha shielded her and rocketed them both away, launching a few rockets to cover the rest of the team’s escapes. Lena had dashed away in the blink of an eye. Being faster and smarter than any of the goons chasing them certainly helped, especially when she knew the labyrinthine streets of King’s Row better than anyone. As for Reinhardt… Well, he wasn’t worried about Reinhardt. Once upon a time he’d seen the man take multiple concussive forces to the head and then  _ laugh _ , all whilst joyfully swinging around his massive hammer like he was in a goddamn piñata shop. Only instead of candy there was blood.  _ Lots _ of blood. 

He made the mental count in his head - there was one that was missing, someone he hadn’t seen escape the mayhem. Jesse chewed the end of his cigar anxiously, knowing better than to let himself worry about Hanzo. 

_ He’s a grown adult and a bonafide killing machine, Jesse, get your head on straight. _

It didn’t help. 

The sound of footsteps behind him halted suddenly, followed by a whistling through the air, and a thud of something heavy hitting the ground. Jesse rounded another corner, and was greeted with the sight of a gun skidding across the pavement in the clearing ahead. Peacekeeper drawn, he rounded the corner carefully but quickly, only to find Hanzo pulling an arrow from the skull of a very incredibly dead person in black. 

The archer cast him a look, eyes not lingering a second longer before he turned, and notched the arrow into his bow. 

“She was flanking you.” Hanzo said, his tone sharp as his eyes widened suddenly and he whirled around. Jesse reacted as quickly as he could when he was half-focused on the other’s words, his finger already squeezing the trigger as he turned. Hanzo’s arrow was faster, hitting the poor soul between the eyes and pinning him to the wall.

Hanzo snorted derisively, holding his chin high as he notched another arrow into his bow and took off. Jesse didn’t wait around this time, falling into step beside the man. He felt a faint burning across his cheekbone, and bringing his fingers to his face he felt something wet. Blood, he confirmed when he drew his fingers back. He’d felt Hanzo’s arrow whoosh past only a hair’s breadth from his face, but one of the razor edges must have caught him.

Jesse swallowed deeply, but resisted the urge to glance at the archer. 

Instead, he focused his eyes forward as they rounded the corner. Fan the hammer, roll, fan the hammer.  _ Two dead. _

An arrow scattered and was followed by the sound of two bodies hitting the ground somewhere off to his right, and a satisfied huff. 

_ Four dead _ , Jesse mentally amended, as he quickly reloaded Peacekeeper and aimed for the man who was scrambling away desperately, something clutched in his hand. Jesse’s bullet flew through his skull as the same moment an arrow caught him at the base of his spine. Jesse almost winced when the man crumpled onto the pavement in a gruesome heap. 

“I am surprised you are able to match my pace.” Hanzo called to him, his eyes challenging when he cast a look over his shoulder at Jesse. He was smiling, something Jesse still hadn’t grown entirely used to. He knew two things that made Hanzo smile: sake and a good fight.

Jesse gave the man a lazy smile of his own. “I’ll do more than match it, partner.” He taunted as he came up behind Hanzo. He patted the man on the shoulder, his fingers lingering for just a moment. 

Hanzo responded with a snort when he pulled his arrow free, still standing with one foot atop the fallen man’s corpse as he peered at Jesse questioningly. “You think you can do better than me?” Hanzo said, his eyes flicking from the hand on his shoulder back to Jesse’s face.

“I figure you’re someone worth impressin’.” Jesse winked and quickly removed his hand, using it instead to tip his hat slightly. He bit the end of his cigar lightly and took off, his spurs jingling with every step he took across the cobblestone.

Hanzo stood stunned for just a moment, before he padded silently across the empty street, making a point to take the lead for the two of them. Jesse’s brow twitched in slight annoyance - he liked the languid pace his long legs could carry him at much more than he liked sprinting, but he couldn’t go slacking now that he’d run his mouth off like that.  

Static crackled in Jesse’s ear, as a familiar voice sounded over his communicator. “Tracer here, and stuck with a twisted ankle. You lads’ll have to finish this one without me.” There was a tinge of disappointment in her voice as the communicator buzzed once more when another transmission came through.

“Put out a distress signal. Pharah and I will pick you up. Reinhardt, McCree, Hanzo, how is it goin-?” Angela’s voice was drowned out by an overly-enthusiastic and heavily-accented “ALL IS WELL, DOCTOR!”, followed by the grisly sound of crunching bones. Jesse smirked when he felt the ground tremble beneath his feet for just a moment. 

Suddenly, Hanzo took a sharp left, and immediately began scaling the side of the building. Jesse knew he couldn’t keep pace with the archer’s nimble feet, and so he continued on, taking the long way instead.

“I am closing in on the target.” Hanzo’s voice was loud and clear through the communicator. Jesse doubled his pace, ducking into the nearby building and making his way through it. He emerged just in time to see Hanzo yanking an arrow from a corpse, along with the retreating back of a man who fit the description of their target. 

Jesse braced Peacekeeper against his metal forearm to steady his shot, closing one eye and letting loose a single bullet. It caught the man in the thigh, making him lurch forward and cry out. Before Jesse could fire another shot, however, the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end and by the grace of sheer instinct, he turned his gaze. 

Well,  _ fuck. _

A colossal bronze statue towered high above them, with explosives strung along the backside like Christmas lights. His eyes followed the trail and saw that it led into the building directly behind him. He’d bet his money that the whole area was rigged, just like the first one, and that any moment it would be crashing down on top of them. 

He heard the familiar, shrill beep of the bombs being activated, followed by a violent tremor as the statue tipped over with the deafening sound of crumbling stone and metal. 

One glance to his side was enough to confirm that Hanzo was too focused on the escaping target to care about the immediate danger. His bowstring was pulled taut, the shadow of the bronze statue engulfing him and the sound of explosives ringing all around. His eyes read of nothing but sharp, intense focus, mind set solely on going in for the kill. 

Hanzo was a good agent - a proper agent. He was doing what a good agent  _ did,  _ which was ensuring the success of the mission, even at the expense of his own life. 

Jesse was trying his best to be a good agent, like Hanzo, like the rest of his team. Yet something beneath his feet carried him forward like a man possessed, as he tackled Hanzo. He heard the arrow lodge itself into the ground a few feet away, several dozen feet from their target. With a cry of surprise from Hanzo, they tumbled right out from beneath the statue as it crashed into the ground, and right into a small alleyway. The buildings on either side shuddered on their foundations, crumbling and collapsing around the pair. 

A sudden flash momentarily stunned and blinded him - one of Jesse’s bombs gone astray, he recognized immediately. His head reeled as he heard nothing but the sound of destruction all around him. Something struck him in the back of the head, and he felt his consciousness being dragged from him all at once. There was the fleeting sensation of breathing from the body below him, and his head lolled forward limply. 

The last thought on Jesse’s mind as he blacked out was that he could settle for being a terrible agent this time around.

 

- 

 

Jesse didn’t know how long he’d been out when he awoke to the sound of debris settling above him. He groaned aloud as he tried to roll over, but found himself caught on something. His serape had been wedged between two large bits of stone, pulling tight around his throat whenever he shifted against it. 

“Damn - fuckin’ hell.” Jesse cursed, giving one final tug and grunting in defeat. When his gaze turned forward he was met with the sight of Hanzo lying on his back and sprawled out beneath him. He could feel the man’s chest rising and falling steadily beneath him.

Glancing around, it seemed that the buildings had collapsed against each other, trapping them but thankfully not crushing them. He also checked to make sure he still possessed all of his limbs, robotic and all. 

When he deemed himself to be all in one piece, Jesse relaxed back against the form trapped beneath him, resisting the urge to look down as he brought his metal arm forward and attempted to access his communicator. The mechanism around his wrist looked fractured and, well, very  _ broken.  _ The only grace was the faintly flickering white light beside the transmitter.  

“This is McCree. Anybody listenin’?” He tried hopefully, despite the heavy crackle and hiss of static that greeted him. Nothing but white noise seemed to be transmitting, and he grumbled beneath his breath as he fumbled with the device for a moment. He fiddled with the distress signal function, and for a moment he thought he’d only made it worse when the light sputtered out completely. A string of curses were on the tip of Jesse’s tongue, but all of a sudden there was a high-pitched beep followed by the light turning red. It pulsed softly, the glow reflecting off the debris and rubble around him. McCree smirked in satisfaction. So maybe it wasn’t  _ entirely  _ broken.

Jesse’s eyes flicked back ahead and scanned the man’s profile. He lingered for a long moment on the gently parted lips, and the subtle movements as breath passed over them steadily. The gentle red light flared up, casting it’s light into the contours of Hanzo’s face before dying down once again. The process repeated, and after a moment Jesse gulped, feeling a bit creepy for ogling like he was. He was just checking to see if the man was still alive, he told himself, as he indulged for a few more seconds..

_ Ssshk! _

A sudden garbled, electric sound startled him, forcing him back into focus and away from his thoughts. It wasn’t coming from his own communicator, and in the dimly illuminated crevice he caught sight of Hanzo’s.

He didn’t know why he hadn’t thought of it before - 

_ You know why, you dumb, red-blooded cowboy. _

He broke from his self-chastisement to reach for Hanzo’s wrist. Seizing it, he balanced it in his hand so he could properly access the communicator. “Gimme a hand,  _ amigo?”  _ Jesse said with a snort, cracking a smile at his own joke as he moved his face closer to the transmitter. 

“Please tell me this thing is workin’.” Jesse kneaded his brows with his fingers slowly, keeping the grip of his mechanical arm on Hanzo loose. There was an extended silence, and Jesse could feel his nerves growing. He really didn’t want to die down here. It would be an unspectacular ending to a life that he believed wasn’t done yet.

“We hear you loud and clear, McCree.” The voice of Angela Ziegler came through, and he’d be damned if it didn’t live up to her name. While he briefly considered becoming religious, before immediately discarding the idea, the voice sounded again. “There was an explosion. We feared for the worst, but your distress signal came through just in time. Is Hanzo with you?”

“Hanzo’s with me. Lights out, but he’s breathin’. I reckon he’ll be right as rain once we’re not buried under two building’s worth of stone and steel.” He let his head fall slack against his hand, his eyes once more drifting across Hanzo’s face. A certain guilt twisted up like something in his throat, but he swallowed it down. “Oh, and Doc’, you think you could bring some whiskey with you?” 

“You will receive proper medical attention once you’re back aboard the carrier,” She stated simply, before adding, “...but I will see what I can do.”

“You’re a goddamn angel.” 

“I am just a doctor. Make sure your distress signal stays on, so we can pinpoint your location.” McCree glanced at his own communicator, and sure enough this red light was still on. He let out a low, gravelly exhale, as Angela’s final words came through like a beacon. “Hang in there. Help is coming.”  

A warmth spread through McCree’s stomach, squashing out the feelings of guilt that lingered there. He heard the click of the transmission ending, and he found his gaze drawn to Hanzo for what felt like the hundredth time. 

“Good to know we’re both above snakes, partner. We’re gonna be just fine.” Jesse murmured, bringing his mechanical hand up to wipe a bit of smudged dirt and blood from the man’s brow.  Right on cue Hanzo awoke with a start and Jesse’s fingers shied away, recoiling back to his side.

“ _ Nan-...”  _ Hanzo rasped out, his eyes flicking around to quickly gauge the situation. He was wide-eyed but he did not seem to be panicking, and when his gaze fell on Jesse, they narrowed venomously. 

“Mornin’, darlin’.” Jesse came with a crooked grin, hand moving to tip his hat. His fingers met only air, but before he could worry about his missing hat, an icy voice stopped him. 

“You,” Hanzo began, spitting the word like a bitter taste on his tongue. “You should not have interfered.”

Jesse winced inwardly, but pursed his lips and retaliated with a stern look of his own. “Look...” He began, his voice showing considerably less confidence than he’d intended. He knew he’d messed up - knew that he’d broken rule  _ numero uno _ of each and every gang and group that put themselves in harm’s way on a daily basis. But for some reason, it didn’t feel like a screw up in his book. He straightened himself up as much as he could, brows knitting as a bit of indignance welled up in his chest. “I did what my gut - ” 

  
“You did as you pleased!” Hanzo cut him off with a growl. “You lack the discipline to risk your life for the  _ mission!”  _ His sentence was punctuated harshly, syllables hissed between his teeth and cutting deep. He shook his head, before trying to wrest himself from beneath Jesse. With an incredulous snort he cursed in Japanese, something Jesse couldn’t translate. Hanzo’s eyes stared darkly at the slab of concrete above him, then cut his eyes back at the other man. “You saved not only yourself, but the life of our target as well.”

Hanzo’s eyes narrowed calmly, rage draining from his expression as he added, “Is that really worth the  _ hundreds  _ of lives that could be affected by his continued survival?”

Ouch, that stung. 

Jesse inhaled deeply through his nose, wishing he had a cigar to chew on instead of his lower lip as he considered his words. 

“Wasn’t my hide I was thinkin’ ‘bout,” Jesse said finally, watching the way Hanzo’s eyes peered at him searchingly. He seemed almost surprised, if not confused, like there was something his mind wasn’t fully processing. “Wasn’t anyone out there’s, either.” He admitted, with enough sense to sound regretful about it.

In truth, he should have  _ felt  _ regretful about it, and maybe a part of him did. Maybe it was somewhere deep down, buried beneath all the relief he felt instead.  

Hanzo’s eyelids dropped and he looked away, his lips pressing into a thin line. It was his turn to contemplate his words, and the look of extreme conflict that played across his features was not unnoticed by Jesse. After an extended and heavy silence, Hanzo finally spoke.

“Why is my life of any concern to you?” No anger, no accusations. It seemed for all the world like a genuine inquiry, one which Jesse loathed to answer truthfully. 

“It’s just - It’s just like you said. Because I lack the discipline to know better.” Jesse answered, unsure of whether that was a shitty lie or a cleverly-veiled truth made out to look like a shitty lie. Either way, it seemed a sufficient enough answer for the man beneath him, who fell silent for another long while. 

A long, awkward while.

Long enough for Jesse to become even more uncomfortably aware of how close they were. 

He tried for a second to shift, to get the feeling of pins and needles to cease in his legs, but quickly found that was an  _ awful  _ idea. His groin pressed firmly into the other man’s thigh, and Jesse tried to conceal his grunt as being the result of frustration rather than  _ friction. _

If Hanzo noticed, he was good at not showing it. Perspiration was beading on his forehead, and as Jesse watched it drip over the other man’s brow, he noticed for the first time how sweltering it was in the confined space.

“We need to get out of here.” Hanzo finally broke the silence, trying to move his weight to one side and pull his other arm from where it was wedged beneath Jesse. The moment he did, the sound of debris shifting and resettling above them was enough to make their blood run cold. Blood pounded in Jesse’s ears as he realized just how easily they could be crushed to death, and how stupid he’d feel if the both of them just died anyway. 

He couldn’t be embarrassed if he was dead, though - it was a peculiar brand of reassurance, Jesse supposed. 

The sound ceased, and the two breathed out in quiet relief.

“Help is coming. I got a hold of the team and they’re going to come by and pick us up.” Jesse reassured him with a grin, blinking a bit in surprise when he heard Hanzo scoff bitterly. 

“You make it sound so casual.” Hanzo said, or rather  _ criticized _ . Jesse once again let his chin rest in the palm of his hand, as things between them fell quiet. The wheels in Jesse’s mind were turning, hard. He knew why Hanzo was upset, and of course he’d  _ anticipated  _ the man would be screaming mad about the whole ordeal - but he couldn’t for the life of him understand why Hanzo wasn’t the least bit thankful to be alive. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but it seemed to be something that ran deeper than cultural differences or personal integrity.

When it hit him, Jesse realized he understood all too well why a man might not value his life as being one worth saving.  

When he spoke again, he didn’t look at Hanzo immediately. Instead he focused on something, anything else. “Y’know, this is one hell of an unsatisfactory situation - ” He started slowly, before continuing, “ - and you’re right.”

He heard Hanzo exhale quickly through his nostrils, but he knew he had the other man’s attention. 

“But don’t you feel like maybe there’s somethin’ you still have to do?” Jesse tried, his gaze meandering languidly, before finally falling across Hanzo’s. Their eyes locked, the other man’s unshakeable and his expression unreadable. Jesse gulped around the sudden lump in his throat, his mouth feeling dry while he sought out the right words. “Like… somethin’ you’re lookin’ for, but haven’t found yet.” He finished vaguely, hoping the man would understand and not think he was some loon. Maybe it was impulsive or overly-hopeful for Jesse to believe he could sympathize, but sense be damned.

Nothing ever got done by sitting around, biting your tongue and waiting for things to happen.   

It seemed to have struck a chord with Hanzo, who remained silent, his eyes peering at Jesse searchingly for a long moment. Jesse saw the man’s tongue run over his lower lip, and he forced his mind to register it as an involuntary action, not an invitation. Standing his ground, Jesse held Hanzo’s eyes with an equal sternness, until the latter broke the exchange.

“You’re bleeding.” Hanzo muttered, gaze fixed on Jesse’s cheek.

With a smile, Jesse’ brushed the tips of his fingers against the shallow slice across his cheek from where Hanzo’s arrow had grazed him. He realized for the first time that it was stinging faintly, probably a result of sweat washing away the dried blood. When he drew his fingers back there was just a bit of fresh blood. He wasn’t worried. 

He pushed the way Hanzo had blatantly ignored his question to the back of his mind. It had been rhetorical, anyway. The way the other man had softened was response enough.    


“You’re a damn good shot.” Jesse said, his face warming up fondly.  _ Alright, quit flirtin’, Jesse.  _ He chastised after spending a moment too long staring with a big, dumb smile on his face. He forced himself to look away to find something else to occupy his mind. He was getting a bit too comfy between Hanzo’s legs, and every time the man breathed, he felt the slight pressure against his lower half.

So Jesse would admit that he might have a thing for Hanzo Shimada. 

Hanzo cleared his throat, the sound tapering off into a low, rumbling breath as the man also searched around for something to occupy him. “Your gun is digging into my thigh.” He said, never making eye contact. 

“Yeah, sorry about that.” Jesse came calmly, coolly, never betraying his composure as he felt for Peacekeeper and found it holstered securely to his hip. It wasn’t even touching Hanzo.  

Jesse suddenly wished Hanzo was still shouting at him, if only so that he would use up all the oxygen, thus expediting Jesse’s own death. It would save him from a more cruel death by embarrassment, because he was as excited as a lucky backseat prom date, and twice as uncomfortable.

He definitely had a thing for Hanzo Shimada, but he did  _ not  _ have a thing for getting buried alive beneath several tons of rock and metal.

Jesse thought on that prospect for a while, burying his face in the palm of his hand and rubbing his brow. With a bit of solid concentration, Jesse was able to get himself under control. 

It was exhausting enough being trapped in the increasingly humid space, slowly running out of air while simultaneously suffering from multiple levels of shame. Hell, he had the biggest crick in his neck from his serape pulling taut against his throat, keeping him from relaxing fully forward. 

Hanzo seemed to share in his discomfort, his breathing slowly picking up pace. The man was good at hiding it, but Jesse could feel the shallow movements of the body beneath him. He could tell Hanzo was suffering, and there was a familiar itch of panic that made the hairs on the back of his neck raise. 

“You look uncomfortable, more so than I.” Hanzo brought a hand up, fingers running over the heavy material of Jesse’s worn serape where it was all pulled tight around his neck. Jesse flashed a rakish smile, lids drooping. 

“Not at all, darlin’. Last time I felt this good I was smokin’ somethin’ on a beach in Baja California.” Jesse came sarcastically, only grinning wider as Hanzo narrowed his eyes at him. “Though it is a lil’ stuffy in here.” He chuckled. 

“I think your blanket is cutting off the oxygen to your brain.” Hanzo responded dryly, tilting Jesse’s chin up. Jesse tried pretend he didn’t notice a sudden lightheadedness, instead focusing on the vague feeling of the other man’s hands on him. It cut through the haze for just a moment, but soon enough the sensation was obscured by the encroaching dizziness.

“‘It’ssa  _ serape _ .” Jesse corrected, words melting together carelessly in his mouth. He felt his head droop forward, serape once again pulling taut against his throat. He swallowed thickly, finding himself struggling to do so. Jesse felt  _ heavy,  _ heavy like the marrow in his bones had been replaced with lead, or like gravity was trying to pull him through the ground.  

“McCree.” A voice came harshly, and he felt hands grip the sides of his face and jerk his head back up. Jesse’s eyes fluttered open, locking on Hanzo’s for just a second. They looked wide, vaguely panicked - only a little, of course. 

_ They sure are pretty _ , Jesse added mentally, unable to register the dumb grin spread across his face as his eyes slipped shut. He thought he heard his name called once more, louder, by someone who was far away. It didn’t matter anymore - it went black.

 

-

 

_ McCree. _

The voice came again. It was still far away, like someone standing across an ocean and calling out to him.

“McCree.”

It was closer now. It wasn’t the same voice, but it was still familiar. 

“Jesse, it’s time to stop being dramatic.” Angela came again, her tone soft and sharp like honey and razorblades. 

Jesse opened his eyes, pupils immediately shrinking to shield out the unforgiving light of the carrier’s medical bay. He gave a soft groan, feeling the body-numbing sensation of heavy painkillers in his system.

“Jus’ takin’ a nap, doc’.” Jesse brought a hand up to scratch his chest, which felt light in the absence of his breastplate. “Can’t a man lose consciousness in peace?”

“Not on my watch.” She said, turning on her heel. Something was cradled in the crook of her arm, and she poked at it with a small handheld laser. He recognized it as being his own mechanical arm, and instinctively looked down. 

So that’s what the painkillers were for. 

His eyes lingered on the empty space beside him where his arm  _ would’ve  _ been, before they travelled up. He was met with the sight of Hanzo, laying stretched out along the cot across the room. He seemed to be staring at the ceiling, only blinking every so often.

Jesse suddenly felt a bit self-conscious. Now that they’d made it out, he didn’t know if the other man would harbor any antagonism towards him. Would he report it to Jack? Had he already done so? His reasons were justified, but were they enough to justify essentially sabotaging a mission? 

Jesse supposed he’d be getting chewed out by Jack either way. He breathed in deeply. The best he could do was grin and bear it. All his life he’d been a problem agent, and he didn’t see that changing in the nearby future. 

He looked away quickly when he realized he’d been staring, and for the first time he opted for silence when the urge to say something to the other man struck him. He didn’t know what he’d say, anyway, and that annoyed Jesse to no end. He wasn’t a man with a tongue that was easily tied, but here he was staring into the harsh florescent lights without a single clue of what to say. 

Angela’s heels clicked against the metal floors as her feet brought her to Jesse’s bedside. She was still working on his arm, and upon closer inspection it seemed like she was welding together a small fissure. 

“You’re lucky we arrived when we did. Your breathing was very shallow after you lost consciousness. I don’t know how much longer you would have lasted.” She came gravely, peering at Jesse briefly before focusing again on repairing the prosthetic. 

“Well I’ll be,” Jesse drawled out, cocking a brow as he glanced from Angela to Hanzo, who was now looking back at him. “So, you sayin’ one of you lucky ducks got to give me mouth-to-mouth?” He chuckled out, winking slyly at Hanzo, who let out a dissatisfied snort and turned away. 

Jesse balked momentarily at the negative response, before settling back down in his cot and mentally punishing himself.  _ Real smooth, Jesse. Piss ‘im off more. _ He didn’t see the sympathetic look Angela flashed his way. 

“That practice is as outdated as your ridiculous get-up.” She responded, smirking slightly at the offended look Jesse sent her way. Angela switched the laser off with a satisfied huff, placing it in her coat pocket as she pushed Jesse back down into a relaxed position.

“That’s cruel. Aren’t you supposed to be an angel or something?” Jesse quipped as he went slack against the cot, head sinking back into the pillows. 

“I’m going to spank you with your own arm.” Angela snorted back, a hint of a smile on her features.

“That a threat or a promise, sugar?” Jesse turned his head toward her, briefly stealing a glance at Hanzo before Angela stepped closer, brandishing his mechanical arm menacingly. Swallowing around the sudden thickness in his throat, Jesse let out a chuckle that tapered off into a surprised grunt when Angela began attaching his mechanical arm. He winced not so much from pain but from the odd feeling of something inorganic being fastened into place beside his flesh in a flurry of metallic whirring and clicking. 

When it had made all the familiar sounds of mechanisms sliding into place and locking, Jesse lifted his arm and turned it a couple times, running his fingers across the spot Angela had repaired. 

“How does it feel? Are you experiencing any discomfort?” Angela came, her gloved fingers seizing his arm gently as she gave it her own once-over. Jesse could feel Hanzo’s eyes on them, and he felt the same uneasiness in his stomach as he shook his head. He quickly drew his arm back, not looking the woman in the eyes as he forced a slight grin. 

“Not a thing, doc’. Fits like a glove.” He responded, clenching and unclenching his fist a few times. The sound of someone clearing their throat made Jesse turn to the side, where Hanzo had sat up, his legs dangling over the side of the cot. 

“Doctor Ziegler, I do not sense any problems with my own health. There is no reason for me to stay.” He said, articulating his words as properly and politely as he could manage. It came off a bit gruff, but Jesse chalked that up to the fact that they'd been close to suffocating only an hour ago. Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that Hanzo was eager to leave. Jesse suspected with a tightness in his chest that it was because of him.

“I’m sorry, Hanzo, but I cannot let you leave until I have surveyed the damage for myself.” She made her way over to Hanzo, who reluctantly laid back down and let the ceiling occupy his gaze once more. “McCree, however, is free to leave.” She glanced over her shoulder, waving him off with a little flourish of her fingers. 

Jesse pushed his way off the cot slowly, stretching out his legs and feeling the static in his limbs fade away. “Alright, alright. I’m leavin’.” He came, tugging on his boots before striding past the two. He made an effort not to glance at them, but failed spectacularly when he whirled around to give a small salute. “Thank you kindly, doc’.” He came, ignoring the tinge of jealousy that came from Angela’s hands moving meticulously over the man’s legs.

Jesse gave a nod, exhaling heavily through his nose before ducking off, heading up the small staircase that led to the main chamber of the carrier. His boots thudded against the metallic floors, the mood that hung over him like a dark cloud placing a certain heaviness in his steps.

He entered the main chamber in a manner uncharacteristically quiet, glancing around. The first thing he saw was the hulking form of Reinhardt, armored from the waist down and conked out on the couch. Fareeha was leaning casually against the table beside him, a deck of cards stacked neatly beside her. She seemed to be balancing the cards atop the old man’s forehead, where they swayed precariously with his breathing but miraculously never seemed to topple over. 

Jesse chuckled from the doorway, taking a few steps further as Fareeha’s hand froze and she turned her head quickly, a bit of red tinting her cheeks from being caught in the act. “Didn’t take you for a prankster.” Jesse said, striding past her and stopping in front of the coffeemaker nestled on the shelf behind the couch. 

“It was hard to resist.” Fareeha replied, her face stone-cold and serious. She cleared her throat, glancing back to the small tower of cards just in time to see it topple down. Jesse could swear he saw a slight pout on her lips, as she gently gathered up the cards once more, taking care not to wake Reinhardt. Her hands stilled when the man turned over in his sleep, curling the palm that was previously splayed across his chest beneath his head as he snuggled against the couch.

“ _ Dummkopf _ . . .German engineering. . .is the best in the world. . .” He muttered through the haze of sleep. There was a small string of slurred-together German that followed, along with a low snore as the man drifted back into a relatively quiet rest.

Jesse shook his head, chuckling once more. He could feel his mood lightening already, but his stubbornness forced the the laughter to taper off into a drawn out sigh. He poured a spoonful of coffee grinds into the machine. “You want a cup?” He asked, speaking over his shoulder without actually looking at the woman. 

“You shouldn’t drink coffee past 17:00, McCree. A good night’s sleep is crucial to performance out on the field.” She came, snorting when Jesse turned to face her with one eyebrow cocked, and pressed the button anyway. The sound of water filling the machine came and went, followed by the hissing of steam and a steady drip as it began to percolate. “Think you been spendin’ too much time with the doctor, Jets.” Jesse came with a wink, pouring a packet of dried creamer into the bottom of a mug, before grabbing a handful of sugar packets and taking a seat at the table.

Fareeha sighed, laying the deck of cards on the tabletop and turning to Jesse with a solemn look on her face. She was obviously ignoring his statement as she crossed her arms over her chest. “Morrison wants us to report to him when we touchdown in Wales.” She waited for a response from Jesse but it never came. She dipped her head down, trying to grab his attention. “He wants us to report to him  _ immediately. _ ” Fareeha stressed, placing her palms calmly on the table. 

Fareeha watched Jesse carefully as he poured packet after packet of the brown crystalline substance into his mug, her eyebrows furrowing. “That’s a lot of sugar.” She commented quietly, her voice more matter-of-fact than criticizing. 

“Old habit, I guess.” Jesse responded cryptically, sounding far away for a moment before the beep of the coffeemaker brought him back and rooted him in reality. He reached behind him to grab the pot of coffee, sloshing the mixture around to check for grinds. He almost looked disappointed when he found none, but emptied the coffee into his mug and stirred it slowly. “The old diner back at Route 66, that coffee was like drinkin’ gravel and mud. But burnt.” He drew the cup to his lips, taking a small sip.

“Enjoy your coffee now. Morrison wants to speak with you specifically.” Fareeha began, crossing her arms once more and gazing out through the carrier window. Jesse followed her eyes, watching as they glided across a blanket of clouds. The sky was dark and grey, inky black in the direction that they were headed. Behind them, there was a faint hint of orange in the distance from the setting sun. “Oh, and Jesse. I won’t make any assumptions, but. . .”

“Look, I appreciate it, but I don’t need another person tellin’ me I screwed up.” Jesse forced, rubbing his brow in slow circles. “Especially if Jack’s gonna be on my ass about it for the next century.”

Fareeha pursed her lips into what he supposed was a sympathetic look. She never looked at Jesse, but cast her eyes down to the ground pensively. “What I’m trying to say is, no one blames you. It wasn’t sabotage. You saved an agent’s life. An agent who is highly capable of continuing to do good work for Overwatch.”

The words were nice enough to hear, but it was clear that none of them really knew just _why_ Jesse had done it. He hadn’t saved an agent’s life, and he damn sure hadn’t done it for Overwatch. He had done it because he was selfish and impulsive and sweet on the worst possible romantic choice he could’ve scrounged up. 

God help him, Hanzo was as aloof and solitary as they come. He was the most gorgeous thing Jesse had ever seen, sharper than his arrows and more fluid than the silks he wore. He was as elegant and ruthless and unobtainable as a cold moon, and it drove Jesse wild.  _ That’s  _ what he’d been thinking about.

Jesse squashed the butterflies in his stomach and forced himself out of his sorry state of pining. He’d proved his point to himself well enough, a point that he’d keep tucked away. He wasn’t one to throw away a ‘get out of jail’ card, and he was no pessimist. If this was the good to be found in this situation, he take it and run with it until he was scot-free. 

Jesse smiled behind his mug before taking a sip, letting the overly-sweet liquid roll over his tongue. He glanced over at the woman, who looked back with a kind-hearted smile that was subtle on her features. A half-empty mug thunked down on the tabletop as Jesse relaxed back against the couch, throwing his arms across the top of it and avoiding the curled-up Reinhardt who was still sleeping soundly. “You know Jack isn’t going to see it like that.” He said, scratching his chin.

“You know how he is.” She countered quickly.

“Y’know, I reckon  _ somethin’  _ was buried down in his grave at Arlington.” Jesse quipped, rubbing his face and grinning. Fareeha furrowed her brows, deciding to entertain Jesse by letting him continue. “It was his damn sense of humor.” Jesse finished, giving an affirming nod. He turned to the woman with an even wider smile when he heard her stifle a snort. 

“He can certainly be a hard-ass.” She agreed, much to Jesse’s amusement.

“I’m tellin’.”  He threatened.

“No, you’re not.” Fareeha pushed herself away from the table, striding towards the cockpit. She turned and gave Jesse a harsh look, the severity of which was utterly ruined by her own smile as she ground her knuckles into her palm. Jesse threw his free hand up in defense, bringing his mug to his lips with the other once more as the woman turned to leave.

Fareeha stopped, facing forward so that Jesse could not see her expression. 

“You’re a good agent, McCree. We trust you, and Jack trusts you. Do not dwell on it.” 

Jesse watched as she disappeared into the cockpit, the heavy door sliding shut behind her. He took a long sip of his coffee, draining the last of it. It was thicker and sweeter from the undissolved sugar, but it tasted somewhat bitter on his tongue as he let his head fall back against the couch. “Hope you’re right.” He muttered beneath his breath. 

Jesse stared out the window for a long while, watching the clouds roll by like a dark ocean. Once or twice he glanced over at Reinhardt when the man stirred, wishing that he would be so lucky as to fall asleep. Maybe the coffee hadn’t been the best idea, after all. He didn’t know how else to pass the time. He wasn’t allowed to smoke on the carrier, and the itch he had for one was making him a bit antsy. 

Arbitrarily he reached forward, taking in his hands the deck of cards Fareeha had been using earlier. He shuffled them once or twice, spilling a few of them once and letting out a slight grunt as he set the deck down and went to swipe the stray cards off the ground. He grinned when an idea came to mind, and he leaned over Reinhardt, trying to balance two cards against one another atop his hulking shoulder. He did it once, twice, and as he went to place another card gently across the two towers, the cards folded and spilled over the other man’s sleeping face. 

“You. . .you can’t stop me,” Reinhardt began, a hand coming up to swat away the ace caught in his beard, “. . .I am the  _ Übermensch _ . . .ha-ha!” The old man barked a laugh in his sleep before he fell quiet once more. 

“You sure are, big guy.” Jesse snorted, placing the cards back in the deck and putting them back inside the box. He gave one fond look to Reinhardt before deciding he should go annoy Fareeha and Lena in the cockpit.

Jesse was halfway up from his seat when a voice sounded over the intercom.

“This is your captain speaking,” The voice - Lena’s - began, sounding overly official as she enunciated her words theatrically. She followed with a small burst of laughter before she continued in a more normal tone, “We’ll be arriving at the Welsh base here right quick, lads. Buckle up, it’s a bit foggy but I’ll try and keep the landing tight.” 

She didn’t seem to be kidding about the ‘right quick’ part, Jesse thought when the carrier suddenly, but smoothly, took a dip. Jesse briefly lamented the lack of actual security belts on the carrier, as well as the popping of his eardrums as they made their descent. It seemed to be enough to shake Reinhardt from his sleep, the man yawning and stretching his arms above his head. 

“Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey.” Jesse greeted the man with a lazy salute as he kicked his boots up onto the table, getting comfortable now that the slight turbulence had subsided.

Reinhardt’s hands came down on the table in a manner that was probably “gentle” for the large man, but in reality made Jesse’s empty mug fall over onto its side. He seemed to be quite groggy still, a certain haze hanging in his eyes as he rubbed the side of his face. 

“I was having the best dream.” Reinhardt muttered, reaching for the overturned coffee mug and bringing it to his lips. He seemed a bit confused to find it empty, and Jesse couldn’t help but let out a low chuckle at that. 

“One time when I was younger, I had a dream I was stark-naked as the day I was born, standing in front of everyone I’d ever fancied or glanced at twice.” Jesse started, shaking his head slowly as Reinhardt’s laughter rumbled. “It was humiliating,” He continued, “Woke up sweatin’ so hard my momma thought I had a fever.” Jesse unfolded his arms from behind his head, one hand coming to scratch his chin thoughtfully. “Though I don’t think I’d be quite as perturbed by that prospect nowadays.”

“By what prospect?” Someone came from the doorway, making Jesse jump slightly in his seat. If he hadn’t already recognized from the voice, he would’ve known it was Hanzo from the virtually silent entry he made. Jesse wasn’t a jumpy person, but Hanzo always managed to catch him with his guard down.

“Gettin’ naked with a certain person.” Jesse said, a bit boldly considering the way he still felt a sinking in his gut when he looked at the other man. Hanzo shot him a nasty look, one that made Jesse’s confidence wither on the inside. He didn’t think anyone would realize just how nervous he got around Hanzo, and hell, he didn’t quite realize the extent of it himself until now. The man was downright intimidating, with a glare that could melt the steel right off Jesse’s body. Still, Jesse was no shy flower, and so he folded his arms behind his head, undeterred.

Hanzo made his way to other side of the room, taking a seat atop a metal crate that was bolted to floor. It didn’t seem comfortable, not to Jesse’s tastes, but the way the man placed himself atop it was graceful as he peered out the window. His back was partially to Jesse, shoulder resting against the wall and with his opposite hand slung across his propped-up knee.

Before Jesse knew it he was resituating and leaning against the tabletop, face in his hands as he indulged in the sight of the other man. Off to his side, he heard Reinhardt talking about his dream, something about an ‘alien vanguard from space’ that sounded vaguely interesting before Jesse’s mind tuned the old man out. 

The way Hanzo was staring out the window and out over the dark blanket of clouds made Jesse think of how the man would look standing beside the sea. He imagined hair and silk whipping in the briny wind, as a storm brewed in the distance and drew closer. Oceans, rain, lightning - Jesse thought those things suited Hanzo, and a second later he was burying his face in his hands, thinking he was either delusional or hopeless. 

“ - I brought down my hammer on the emperor and POW!” Reinhardt brought down his fist, scaring Jesse half to death and tearing him away from his ruminating with the violent vibrations of the table beneath him. “Green goo everywhere. Just like the putty that makes the funny noises.” The old man finished, crossing his arms across his chest which was puffed proudly. It was almost like he was proud of himself for eliminating the fictitious alien invaders.   

“Sounds like one hell of a rodeo.” Jesse said, patting Reinhardt’s shoulder as the other man settled back down into his seat. 

“It was no rodeo - only glorious battle.” He came matter of factly, his eyelids falling shut and a satisfactory hum slipping from his lips. When it tapered off into silence, Jesse thought he was sleeping again after a few seconds, until the man jolted up again. “Are we there yet? I am starving.”

“I’m achin’ for a smoke myself.” Jesse said when he fixed his eyes back on Hanzo, kicking his feet back up on the table. When he sank back against the couch he saw the other man’s head turn just slightly toward him, Hanzo glancing at him from the corner of his eye. Jesse suddenly realized he’d been staring a little too hard, and quickly reached up to tip his hat down low on his brow - only to find that it was absent. 

There was a slight annoyance as his fingers twitched at the empty space and recoiled, draping across his kneeguard in defeat. Jesse turned to face to his side, pointedly looking away from Hanzo until something outside the window caught his attention. 

The fog was thin enough closer to the ground that he could see the rapidly approaching battlements, crenellated stone teeth that lined walls between massive turrets. It looked for all the world like sixteenth century castle, a hulking seaside fortress that sat atop the low rocky cliffs.

Jesse let out a low whistle. “One hell of set-up we got here,” He said, still staring out the window as the carrier made its way to the rear of the base, touching down onto the landing pad at the end of the jetty. The hum of the engines died down, and there was a sudden lurch as the conveyor began guiding the carrier into the main fortress.

The sound of the cockpit doors sliding open forced Jesse to whirl back around, as Fareeha descended into the main chamber, her helmet held in the crook of her arm. Lena followed close behind, a small brace fastened around her sprained ankle. 

“Don’t get too comfortable. We convene with Morrison in five.” Fareeha said, glancing to the side as Angela appeared around the corner to join the rest of them.

Reinhardt furrowed his brow as he slid out from behind the table. “We must speak with Jack  _ before  _ dinner?” He complained. 

Jesse’s boots tapped against the ground as he rose to his feet, hanging a good ways behind the rest of them as he produced a cigar from the pouch on his belt. “I agree with Reinhardt. Makin’ us go on empty bellies like this.” He smirked, his fingers searching his pocket for a lighter. “I’ll have to start a union.”  

Pharah rolled her eyes and stood before the carrier door as the conveyor came to halt. There was a slight hiss as the door unsealed and lowered. They filed out quickly, Lena spouting off a few facts about the unsurprisingly high-tech interior of the Welsh base. Jesse didn’t pay it much mind as he lit up his cigar, until Lena paused and gave him an apologetic grin. 

“The big guy also wanted me to tell you all that this is a non-smoking establishment.” She said, cocking her head to the side as she added, “Sorry, Jesse.” 

Jesse’s face deadpanned as he flipped the top of his lighter closed, taking a small puff of his cigar and blowing the smoke out slowly. “Not a problem, missy.” He quickly stubbed the cigar out on his metal arm and put it away. “I might seriously have to look into startin’ a union, though.” Jesse grumbled under his breath, hanging behind the group and moving at his own languid pace as they made their way to the teleconference room. 

Just as Fareeha had said, within five minutes the team was spread out across the room as the projected image of the former strike commander materialized before them. 

“Glad to see you’re all alive and in one piece.” Morrison came, arms crossed over his chest as he looked out across them. Jesse wondered briefly what it looked like from the other side, and if Jack could really see him lounging in the back of the dimly lit room, chewing on the end of an unlit cigar. As if to test it, Jesse kicked his boots up on the coffee table. The flickering blue face of Morrison remained unphased.

Fareeha was the first to begin delivering the report, her explanations clear and concise and to the point. Jesse always appreciated the woman’s directness - she kept things short and simple. Still, he didn’t pay much attention to her words. He instead glanced around the room, eyes passing over Lena, who was flopped across a beanbag with her head in her hands, and Reinhardt, who looked downright miserable. He couldn’t blame the guy - he was getting hungry himself. 

Last he looked to Hanzo, their eyes catching for a brief moment that ended when Hanzo furrowed his brow and turned away, pointedly not looking in Jesse’s direction again. Jesse’s shoulders rose and fell with a heavy sigh that he tried to conceal behind his hand. His attention was pulled forward once more when he heard Fareeha's words trail off.

She glanced behind herself to the others grimly.

“As for the official status of this mission,” She turned back to Morrison, her expression stone-cool, “ - failed. The attempts to eliminate the target and retrieve contraband were unsuccessful. I suspect a follow-up mission is in order.”

Morrison gave a gruff sigh, his arms dropping to his sides. “Hold on that, Agent Amari. I’ll let you know if you’re going to be reassigned. Otherwise, just stay put.” He finished, before turning to Angela, who was seated off to the side with a tablet in her hands that she was typing away on.  

“Ziegler, I need you to send me the medical reports for -” Morrison began, before he was cut off. 

“I am sending them as we speak.” Angela chimed in, before standing and tucking the device away in her lab coat. Morrison smiled, giving her a firm nod.

“You’re dismissed, then.” The words had barely left Morrison’s mouth before Jesse was jumping up to leave with everyone else. He just had to make it a few feet and he’d be scot-free -

“Except for you, McCree.”

_ Damn it.  _

Jesse hummed lightly as he dropped back down into his seat, kicking his boots back up onto the table. The projected Morrison took a step closer, and Jesse gulped when he heard the door shut. 

“Get your boots off the table, boy.” Morrison bit out, and Jesse couldn’t help the small snort that escaped as he sat up straight, feet planted firmly on the floor. 

“Yessir.” Jesse retorted as he settled back, meeting Morrison’s gaze boldly. “How can I help you today?” He said with a hint of sarcasm, pulling his lighter from his pocket. 

“You’ve got a failed mission on your hands.” Morrison said firmly, his face stern and unmoving. 

“Who doesn’t have a few blunders on their record?” Jesse brought the flame to the end of his cigar, lighting it and inhaling slowly. “I ain’t worried about it.” He said, blowing out a puff of smoke as he pocketed his lighter.

“Not everyone has a count of agent interference amongst those blunders.” Morrison countered, watching closely as Jesse pulled the cigar off his lips, smoke wafting from his open mouth as he gave the older man an incredulous look. 

“Agent interference? That’s a good fuckin’ joke.” Jesse responded as anger flared up inside him, and he leaned forward, gesturing to Morrison with his free hand. “I interfered and saved myself and a fellow agent from being crushed to death beneath two tons of reinforced steel and concrete.”

“You screwed up an entire goddamn mission is what you did!” Morrison snapped, his own temper rising to meet that of the other man. 

Jesse barked out a bitter laugh, running a metal hand through his hair as he tried to calm himself down. “Have I done enough to warrant a suspension, Jack?” He asked after a moment, brows furrowed. Morrison narrowed his eyes at Jesse’s use of his name, but otherwise ignored it as he crossed his arms. 

“No, but you’ve done enough to warrant me being pissed the hell off.” Morrison brought his hands down on whatever was in front of him, a desk mostly likely, hunching over it and glaring at the other man harshly. Jesse inhaled deeply through his nose, ashing his cigar off to the side.      

“That mission report woulda’ been a whole lot more depressin’ if it included the deaths of two of your finest agents.” He added, his tone much lower than it had been. 

Morrison was quiet for a long while, his expression unreadable as he watched Jesse. Jesse opened his mouth several times, itching to say more but holding his tongue every time. After a heavy silence and a few puffs of his cigar soothed Jesse’s temper just a bit, Morrison spoke. 

“It’s not like I want you dead, Jesse. If anything, I’m relieved every time I hear you haven’t gotten your ass killed just yet.” He began slowly, walking off to the side and leaning against something Jesse couldn’t see. He wasn’t looking at Jesse anymore, his eyes downcast. “ - and it wasn’t  _ what  _ you did. It was why.” 

Jesse was silent. 

“I caught wind of some rumors, the implications of which were alarming.” Morrison continued vaguely, though Jesse could infer an awful a lot about the direction he was going. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He didn’t like the idea of everyone’s noses being in his personal business, even if he wasn’t the most subtle about his romantic persuasions. 

“Whatever your relationship is with Agent Shimada -” Jesse suppressed the sudden embarrassment that came with the mention of the other man’s name, keeping his poker face intact as Morrison continued. “- it cannot be a priority.” 

Jesse pursed his lips, looking off to the side as he tapped his cigar, a bit of ash falling onto the table. “You ever thought of checkin’ those sources of yours?” Jesse bluffed, swallowing around the lump in his throat. “ _ Agent Shimada  _ and I don’t have a damn thing to do with one another.” 

As hard as it was to admit, it was still, for the most part, true. It frustrated Jesse, but he didn’t know much about the man aside from a handful of brief and forced late-night conversations in the moonlight, and a few cases of lingering eye contact. Jesse was the only one Hanzo would drink with, and once they’d even played a game of  _ Koi-Koi _ together (which Jesse had been terrible at) - but most of those exchanges were conducted in silence.

“Angela was very convinced that was not the case.” Morrison countered, one brow arching. 

Jesse grunted lightly, smoke drifting from his nostrils as he sank back into the cushions looking a bit indignant. “Was she now.” He muttered beneath his breath, before taking another long drag and blowing it out slowly. 

Morrison looked up from the floor, and kept his eyes trained on Jesse for a long while. Jesse didn’t know if it was just the oddness of the projection, but the man didn’t even seem to be looking at him, but rather  _ through  _ him. Like a faintly flickering ghost Morrison stood there for a long time, until his expression hardened. 

“I’m not Gabriel, Jesse, and neither are you. We can’t tolerate self-interest -” 

Jesse quickly cut him off, nearly bending the cigar between metal fingers as he jerked forward. 

“You can’t go comparin’ me to him, Jack.” Jesse insisted, ignoring the slight tug in his chest at the mention of Gabriel. “So the man pulled me by my bootstraps out of the Deadlocks, and taught me a few fancy parlor tricks. You afraid I’m gonna start dressin’ in black leather and blowin’ shit up?” 

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Morrison shook his head. “Just - it won’t be tolerated. You’ve seen what it’s done to us.” His voice was grave and his words struck a rather solemn note between the both of them. Jesse visibly relaxed, the anger draining from his expression.

“I know.” He murmured, putting his cigar out once more and rising to his feet before adding, “We done?” There wasn’t any hostility in his voice, but Jesse was eager to leave. 

“You’re dismissed.” Morrison said with a nod. Jesse breathed out heavily, moving to the front of the room to cut off the transmission. His finger was lingering over the button when Morrison’s voice called out once more.

“I’m glad you made it out of there okay, Jesse.” The older man came, giving him a salute as a fond smile tugged at the corner of his lips. Jesse nodded, responding with a lazy salute of his own before pressing the button. The projection cut off immediately with a hiss of static, and the room was empty once more.  

Jesse managed to find his way to the mess hall and scrounge up enough leftovers for a halfway decent meal, but if he were honest, he didn’t have much of an appetite left. He wasn’t angry, but he was dealing with the emotional cocktail from hell and the resulting headache that the day’s events had produced. 

He sauntered through the halls, making a note of where everything was in the small fortress. By the time he found his room (or the room he assumed was his because of his leather suitcase being propped up against the door), he was antsy. 

His mind was buzzing, uncomfortable as he looked at the bed. He wasn’t tired. Instinctively he reached for a cigar, but the second it touched his lips he decided it wasn’t that, either. He placed it aside on the bedside table, and began stripping down. The small bathroom looked promising, and Jesse reckoned he didn’t smell too nice after what he’d been through today. A hot shower would be nice. Jesse made his way to the shower, turning the knob and letting the water heat up for a moment. 

“Boy, you look like hell.” He caught sight of his reflection in the mirror, bringing a hand up to the gash along his cheek. It was a perfect slice, thin and dark red from the scabbing. He let his fingertips graze over it for the umpteenth time that day, remembering just how he’d gotten it. 

He recalled the look of fierce concentration on Hanzo’s face, the way his muscles pulled taut as he notched an arrow into his bow and let it loose. The man was so agile, his body moving beneath a yukata that was all but falling off of him, clothing Jesse was dying to pull off to see what else that body could do. It was a dangerous line of thought Jesse was chasing, but the heat was already pooling in his belly as his lower half took interest. 

By the time he fell under the hot water Jesse’s mind was far gone, wrapped up in thoughts of the other man as his hands found their way down between his thighs. He stroked himself to full hardness, imagining himself kissing up the bare expanse of Hanzo’s chest and sinking his teeth into the curve of his neck. He wondered if Hanzo would moan out, or if he’d bite his lip to stay quiet. 

Jesse’s back pressed against the tiled shower wall, his skin slick from the steam and his cock slicker from the precum that dripped across his fingers. He couldn’t even focus on one specific thing as he jacked himself off, his mind a haze drunk on the thought of being between Hanzo’s thighs, using hands, mouth, cock, anything to coax the moans out of the other man. He wanted to see his strong back forming a gorgeous arc as he groaned Jesse’s name over and over, to see his chest heaving while Jesse fucked him into the mattress  _ hard _ . 

Jesse’s fist moved over his length faster now, pressure building in his groin. It felt wrong, but the image of Hanzo’s face twisting in ecstasy with eyes alight as he came undone beneath him, on top of him,  _ wherever _ \- it was overwhelming. With a bit-off grunt hissed between clenched teeth, Jesse spent himself over his fist.

When the stream of hot water washed the stickiness away down the drain, the only evidence of what had just transpired was Jesse’s reeling head and pounding heart, along with the fucked-up mess of guilt and satisfaction that twisted in his gut.

He sighed, long and drawn-out as he rolled his head forward, letting the hot water soak through his hair and down to his scalp. His mind was spinning and he didn’t open his eyes for a long while, rubbing his face idly until he no longer felt the build-up of grease and grit on his flesh. The water felt good, better than anything else had all day. 

Well, almost anything, he thought none too innocently.

When he finally opened his eyes and slicked his hair back, staring into the too-bright lights of the shower, he felt the same sinking feeling in his chest. Like static under his skin he felt restless, and he quickly soaped up his hair.

He finished up in the shower quickly, emerging from the bathroom in a cloud of steam and smelling faintly of pine and cedar. Jesse wasn’t entirely fond of that, and he made a note to bring his own toiletries next time. He didn’t fancy smelling like a damn lumberjack. 

While Jesse towel-dried his hair he gave another long glance towards the bed and its neatly made sheets and fluffed pillows. He furrowed his brows as he tossed the towel aside and began rummaging through his suitcase. Despite everything that had happened, sleep was the last thing on his mind. His fingers hesitated over the plain t-shirt he slept in, and when his mechanical hand carded through his wet locks, something dawned on him. 

Like an epiphany Jesse grinned, tugging out a fresh button-up and a pair of slacks. He dressed himself quickly, fastening his breastplate and tugging on his boots last. He grabbed the cigar from the bedside table and placed it between his teeth, and went on his way. 

It took him a bit of searching around the base, but Jesse quickly found what he was looking for. With a press of his thumb to the biometric reader the metal doors slid back. Athena’s voice greeted him with the familiar, ‘ _ Welcome, Agent McCree’ _ , that made him feel all fancy and official each time it happened. 

Jesse’s boots clicked against the polished floors of the garage as he strolled past the standard-issue vehicles they were provided on every mission. Amongst the couple of cars, a van, and a powder blue motor scooter with racing stripes that undoubtedly belonged to Lena, if the stickers decorating it were anything to go by, was exactly what Jesse was looking for. 

A few floors up, Hanzo inhaled deeply through his nose. He stood outside of Jesse’s closed door, a bottle of whiskey clutched in his hand. He knocked once on the door, and when there was no answer, he tried again. 

“McCree.” The man called, his voice gruff. “I brought something you requested and -” Hanzo paused, the words clinging to his tongue stubbornly. He swallowed his pride, forcing them out quickly and all at once. “ - and I wanted to apologize for my earlier. . .” 

Hanzo narrowed his eyes as his voice tapered off, his fingers lingering on the doorknob before he threw the door open. His face fell when he was met with the sight of Jesse’s untouched bed. He gritted his teeth, grunting and pulling the door shut harshly. He knew Jesse was undoubtedly in  _ someone’s  _ bed, if his behavior in the medbay that day was anything to go by. 

As Hanzo stalked through the halls and back to his own room, the anger in him flooded out until he was left with only a sinking feeling in his chest. When he reached his door he entered quickly and shut it quickly behind him, tossing the bottle of whiskey onto his bed, purposefully forgotten.   

Outside, Jesse smoothed his hands across sleek black metal and paint, smirking in satisfaction as he nudged the motorcycle’s kickstand back with his boot, and powered it up. When he tested it out and the engine revved smoothly, Jesse let out a low whistle. He smoothed his hair back, fitting the helmet over his head and pushing the tinted visor down. 

“Alrighty, how ‘bout you take me back to King’s Row?” Jesse muttered, when the screen in front of him lit up briefly with the Overwatch symbol. It faded, and Jesse found his way to the GPS and punched in the coordinates. 

The static feeling beneath his skin was replaced by an entirely different fire as he pulled out of the garage. With one last glance at the base he set off for the main highway, tearing through the countryside in a streak of dust and jet black metal, with the clear night sky stretching above him. 

 

.

.

.


	2. What Happens in Nepal, Stays in Nepal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A flashback to Hanzo's first few assignments with Overwatch, and the repeated attempts Jesse made at befriending him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a flashback that takes place anywhere from a few months to maybe a year before the events of the first chapter, up until the ending bit, which takes place right after the events of the first chapter.
> 
> (EDIT: UHHH so... there was a small part I added in as a joke that.. I kind of forgot to remove and I have now removed ayyyy lmao)

 

* * *

 

 

His first assignment with Overwatch had been to Gibraltar.

As Hanzo tread the halls of the base silently, he made an effort to avoid any unnecessary encounters as he made his way to the kitchen. He had almost made it when he crossed paths with a young girl - too young to be an agent, Hanzo had first thought - blowing bubbles with her gum and tapping away on some handheld device.

“Oh, that’s too bad, GG!” She came, seeming more than content to ignore him as her device made an array of noises that sounded reminiscent of a victory song, and she disappeared around a corner.

Hanzo gave a slightly annoyed grunt, wondering what sort of establishment Overwatch was to allow mere _children_ to risk their lives. When he stepped into the kitchen and saw a fully grown woman drinking straight from the carton of milk, he suspected the adults weren’t much better.

“Oh, haha,” She laughed, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand and placing the carton back in the fridge, “You must be the new guy!”

When she closed the door, Hanzo was momentarily taken aback by the large glowing device strapped to her upper half, which contrasted sharply with the casual sweatpants and the oddly-patterned socks she was wearing. He recognized her immediately as one of the more prominent Overwatch members, which he had seen many times in pictures and on television.

“My name is Lena Oxton,” She began calmly, extending her hand out to Hanzo. Before he had a chance to say or do anything, the woman disappeared in a twinkle of blue light, and a second later he felt something tap his shoulder. He whirled around, only to find the woman pointing at him with finger guns, mouthing a low ‘POW!’ as she mimicked a shooting motion. “Better known as ‘Tracer’!” She finished with a grin, before placing her hands on her hips.

Hanzo wasn’t in the mood for games, but he found his slight distaste for her high-energy personality being offset by his interest in her apparent knack for translocation.

“Hanzo Shimada.” With a somewhat stilted bow, Hanzo introduced himself. He braced himself for the mention of his brother, straightening up and watching the woman carefully. Her smile faltered ever so slightly, but it never came.

“Welcome aboard, Hanzo. Glad to have you on our side.” Lena said kindly, turning on her heel. “We’ll need your help fighting the good fight here.” She took a step, before vanishing once more. It made Hanzo a bit dizzy, and he had barely recovered from the encounter before Lena’s head poked around the corner. “By the way, if you need anything, just ask anyone. We’re a pretty friendly bunch, I’d say. Even if some of the others have a bit of a stick up their arse.”

“ - and watch out for Lúcio, he’s _evil._ ” She whispered dramatically, just as yet another agent strolled into the kitchen. He looked like he’d just come from a workout, if the way he was dressed and the slight sheen of sweat on his skin was anything to go by. He plucked out one of his earbuds, stopping in his tracks to give Lena a playfully harsh look.

“You in here spreading rumors about me to the new guy?” He grinned, casting a look at Lena, who gave a slight giggle. He opened up the fridge, leaning down to grab a pop.

“I was kidding, Lúcio!” She began, nudging him with her sock foot. “ - You’re an angel.”

He rose back up, twisting the top off his drink with a slight fizz. “You’re dang right.” When he closed the fridge door and turned back with a greeting on the tip of his tongue, he found himself staring at an empty space where Hanzo had been standing moments before.

Hanzo stalked back to his room, wondering why he’d ever thought _leaving_ it would be a good idea. His appetite had been forcibly quelled, and he ignored the emptiness in his stomach as he rounded the corner. Of course, he should have anticipated finding himself running into yet another _colorful_ member of Overwatch. American, Hanzo guessed, the spurs jingling with the man’s steps being a dead giveaway. In the long hallway, the man wasn’t even shy about the way he held eye contact. A metal arm came up to pull the cigar from his lips, and Hanzo braced himself for another forced hello. It never came.

The man blew out a puff of smoke, which curled up to the low ceiling and lingered in the air as Hanzo passed. He heard the jingling of his boots grow further away, and Hanzo halted in front of his door, fingers stopping on the knob. That had been _refreshing_. To not be bombarded with greetings but to be ignored like he was nothing more than the passing wind. He nearly felt indignant about it, but knew that he would not have appreciated the alternative any more.

He did not think on it any more than that.

For the first few weeks, he paid no one more mind than he had in the beginning. After a handful of awkward attempts by the other agents to make friends, most of them deflected by Hanzo’s gruff politeness and austere demeanor, they eventually left him alone.

By the time they were on their first mission, he could tell they were surprised by how vocal he was. He had every reason to be - he was in his element. To exceed and impress was a skill he’d spent his childhood honing and perfecting, and he worked efficiently and effectively. His team _liked_ him, if for no reason other than that he was _useful._

He would give them no other reason.     

He sat cross-legged on the floor, his yukata stripped down and bunched about his waist as he held an antiseptic soaked cloth to a bullet wound on his side. He’d just been clipped, a shallow wound and a mistake no one had seen, just as Hanzo preferred. As he cleaned and dressed the wound, preparing to bind it with cotton and gauze, there was a knock on his door.

He stood quietly, tugging his robe on over both shoulders and nudging his first aid supplies behind his bed with his foot. He made his way to the door, eyebrows furrowed. He’d never received a visitor, and the idea that there was someone wanting to speak specifically to _him_ was odd. He opened the door just slightly, taken aback when he saw who it was.

It was the American with his jingling boots - only now he also sported a ridiculous hat and a revolver strapped to his waist. Hanzo’s eyes darted back up to the man’s face, awaiting his words before he decided whether or not he should judge him further than the _interesting_ get-up begged.

“Evenin’.” The man said, leaning against the doorframe and tipping the brim of his hat in greeting. He seemed to pause for a moment to allow Hanzo time to reply, but continued when he realized the other man had no intention of doing so. “I was wonderin’ if you wanted to play some cards with me and the guys - er, gals.” The man chuckled, the sound a low and pleasant rumble. “It’s, uh, really just Lena, Fareeha, and me. Nothin’ fancy.”

Hanzo swallowed, about to politely reject the man when he noticed an odd look pass across the man’s face. He became aware of the sharp burning scent of antiseptic that hung in the air. In a moment he realized he most certainly reeked of it, and he didn’t have to wonder for more than a moment if the other man had noticed that he was the source of it.

His eyes widened, raking down Hanzo’s body boldly and lingering where his yukata hung loosely from his shoulders, leaving a good deal of his chest exposed - as well as the bloody gash on his side. Hanzo tugged it to cover more of himself, cursing beneath his breath.

“You know, Lúcio could fix that up in a jiffy,” He started slowly, watching the other man reach for the door. He caught it with his metal hand before Hanzo could close it, continuing. “And I certainly know my way around a bullet wound - “

“I do not need your help.” Hanzo cut him off brusquely, staring at the man hard until he slowly retracted his hand, and took a step back. He stared at Hanzo hard, before turning to leave. Hanzo dropped his gaze to the floor, not watching the man go but simply standing there for a moment as he heard him depart. Gathering himself, he shut the door gently and made his way to the mat in the corner of his room. There he knelt once more, and resumed bandaging his wound.

He had hoped his rudeness would have discouraged the man as it had the others, but it was not to be.

The following week, there was yet another knock on his door.

Hanzo sighed, blowing out a puff of smoke and setting his kiseru off to the side of the book he’d been pretending to read. The smoke drifted lazily out the window, Hanzo watching it for a moment before rising to his feet. He had an inkling of who it might be, and still he opened the door, this time leaning against it as he regarded the man from before with a blank expression.

“Howdy.” This time, the man did not lean against the doorway as he greeted Hanzo, instead standing up straight with his hat held politely over his chest. Hanzo appreciated the manners, and so he remained silent, waiting for the man to continue. He didn’t seem nervous or uncomfortable, the way most people did when confronted with Hanzo’s cool, flinty stare. This, combined with the fact that Hanzo had to look ever so slightly _up_ to meet the man’s eyes, irked him.

“There’s a club Lúcio is doing a gig at tonight. Lena roped me into comin’ along, said it’d be more relaxed than your typical nightclub because it’s on the beach and - “

“No.” Hanzo came simply, moving to close the door. The man’s expression was unfazed, giving a slight nod as the door shut in his face.

“Alrighty.” Hanzo heard the man say from the other side, followed by the sound of departing footfalls. He breathed in heavily through his nostrils, once again returning to puffing on his ceramic pipe and staring blankly out the window.

These weekly encounters continued, the man - whose name Hanzo had made a point to _not_ learn - knocking once on his door, making an offer, and taking Hanzo’s increasingly curt rejections with an entirely straight face.

It was a strange routine they had fallen into, but even stranger was the fact that Hanzo did not find himself annoyed by it. The man simply came and went, never once insisting or pressing the issue, At one point, the man had shown up smoking his cigar and saying nothing, obviously anticipating Hanzo’s rejection. Oddly, Hanzo had found himself fighting off the urge to smile in amusement after he’d shut the door.

The following week, Hanzo found himself expectantly seated near the door. When the knock came, he opened it and found not the person he was expecting. Instead, a tall woman with dark, shoulder-length hair and a serious gaze permanently fixed onto her angular features stood before him. He remembered her name immediately as being Fareeha, or “Pharah”. She was the one who acted as a spearhead on most of their missions, like leadership was something that was either in her blood or branded into her flesh - something Hanzo not only understood but respected greatly.

“Report to the teleconference room immediately.” Fareeha said, stepping to the side to allow Hanzo to pass, which he did so quickly. “We are all being reassigned.” She called to him as he made his way down the hall. Hanzo took a deep breath. He was relieved to hear they would be travelling once again. It had been a time since he remained in one place for anywhere near this length of time, and he welcomed the change of pace.

The feeling was not long-lived, however. The relief in his gut turned ice-cold when he heard that they’d been assigned to the base in Nepal.

 

-

 

The entire time in the carrier, the man - who Hanzo had reluctantly identified as being named ‘McCree’ during their reassignment meeting with Morrison - sat across from him. He was chewing the end of an unlit cigar, never paying Hanzo any mind and acting as if he had not routinely taken time out of his day on a weekly basis to make fruitless attempts at befriending him.

Hanzo, in turn, paid him no mind, instead remaining in his place beside the carrier’s window, glancing out and the snowy mountains that laid beneath them. They reminded him of the landscape of a watercolor that he had painted when he was a teenager, which probably still hung back in the halls of his old home in Hanamura. He remembered the frayed edges, the grit of the rice paper beneath his fingers, and the torn corner where Genji had once defaced it in the midst of a sibling feud. Chest tight with a bit of nostalgia that he quickly willed away, Hanzo turned from the window, staring harshly at the floor and preparing himself for what was to come.

McCree’s voice cut through the silence, making Hanzo turn towards him.

“Think Hell finally froze over.” He muttered, shivering audibly and pulling his serape across himself further. “ - It sure is cold in here.”

“Don’t complain.” Hana snorted, never once looking up from her handheld console. There was an array of annoying noises, reminiscent of those of the old-fashioned arcade back in Hanamura that Hanzo had visited several times, for one reason or another. The girl’s face was twisted up in intense concentration, her feet kicked onto a metal crate identical to the ones she was lounging between. She was wearing a white-furred coat that seemed massive on her petite frame, nearly engulfing her as she tapped away at the gaming device. “If we don’t get used to the cold, we’re going to freeze our butts off up here.”

McCree huffed, tossing his engraved zippo from one hand to the other in a manner that made him seem positively bored. “Well, maybe if Mei-Ling got _me_ a fancy fur coat for _my_ birthday, I wouldn’t have a to complain.” He teased, watching as Hana looked up from her game to pop the collar of her coat flashily and poke her tongue out at the older man.

“Let’s be honest. It wouldn’t look good on you, anyway.” She replied cheekily, going back to her game.

McCree feigned shock and offense, placing a hand on his chest. “I gotta find _somethin’_ to keep me warm. I’m from New Mexico. Winter clothes aren’t exactly my forte.”

“Neither is fashion in general, apparently.” Hana came, cocking an eyebrow.

Once again Jesse pursed his lips, before looking over to Hanzo with his hands raised in defense. “You just gonna sit there and watch this? This is slaughter.” He ran a hand through his hair, staring ruefully at his cowboy hat sitting atop the table nearby.

“I agree with her.” Hanzo gave him a pitiless look, before turning his gaze back to the window. He had no desire to get roped into the conversation, despite how amusing it was to listen to.

You should find something that suits your style, like Hanzo.” Hana stood to her feet, pocketing her gaming device and placing one hand on her hip while she gestured to Hanzo with the other. “Tight, black, high collar, but still maintaining his traditional aesthetic - he looks very sleek and handsome. The hair is a nice touch, too.” She folded her arms proudly as Hanzo stiffened and turned to face her with an odd look.

She was right, of course. Hanzo had donned a fitted and fleece-lined black top and leggings beneath his usual silk clothing. His yukata was now tied about his waist, and his hair was let down from the usual high tail. It was something which he had normally done when travelling to colder climates, finding it to be much more efficient way to stay warm than traditional Japanese winter-wear. While he had no qualms about his appearance, it was the first time someone had so outright deemed him _attractive_ in a very long time _._

“It was. . . nothing done purposefully.” Hanzo forced out a bit awkwardly, feeling a bit strange at being put on the spot - something which was, in and of itself, strange. He didn’t typically respond to attention with discomfort, and yet here he was, grasping for composure as he cleared his throat. He held his head high, looking off to the side and pretending not to notice the way McCree’s eyes lingered on him.

Hana chimed in again, taking McCree’s attention once more. “I’m thinking something dark brown and leather, with a fur lining.”

“I don’t have time for that sort of preenin’, sweetheart.” The man came, running a hand through his hair. “I do my fair share of manscapin’, but. . .” He tapered off with a shrug.

“Ew,” Hana made a gagging noise as she turned on her heel, making her way towards the cockpit. “You’re lucky your online fangirls still think you’re super hot.” She commented, the heavy metal doors to the cockpit sliding open. With a giggle that echoed off the interior of the carrier, she disappeared behind them as they slid shut once again.

Hanzo glanced at Jesse, who was muttering something about fangirls as he leaned back in his seat, placing his hat over his face and tucking his arms beneath his head.

The rest of the flight was relatively silent as they drifted over the snowy mountaintops. When they finally landed, Hanzo could make out a metallic figure glinting against the snowy landscape at the end of the landing pad. Between stone pillars, sculpted at the tops into what seemed to be elephant heads, an omnic floated peacefully, the nine dots upon his forehead glowing a soft blue in the dark.

The group approached, and the omnic placed his fingers together slowly, bowing his head slightly.

“Welcome, friends. I would say ‘warm greetings’, but alas. . .you all seem rather cold.” He greeted, his metallic voice smooth and calming. That earned a laugh from all but Hanzo, who remained a few steps behind everyone else, watching the exchange but also scanning, searching for something more, something else. _Someone -_

With the faintest scrape of metal against stone Hanzo’s eyes cut directly to one of the stone pillars they stood between. There, arm draped across the stone elephant head and one leg dangling precariously over the side was another metal-clad figure, the green light of his mask cutting harshly through the night. He looked flippant and aloof - _as usual_ , Hanzo thought, eyes narrowing.

Genji did not turn to Hanzo, but instead dropped gracefully to the ground, landing beside the omnic and bowing his head in a measure of respect that caught Hanzo off-guard.

“We meet once again, my friends.” He said fondly, before straightening up. He stood beside the omnic rigidly, again respectful in his stance and holding his head high. “Master Zenyatta, I will make sure dinner preparations have been made.” With another quick bow of his head, Genji turned and dashed off quickly, disappearing up the steps.

“That is not necessary, Genji -” Zenyatta called after him, before tilting his head. “He is nervous.” The omnic hummed quietly as he turned back to the group.

Hanzo’s first instinct was to be annoyed, to wonder how an omnic had managed to warrant so much respect from the younger Shimada, to succeed where so many of his own kin had failed. Only moments ago, Genji had been lounging all over architecture that was likely centuries old, so reckless and free, but then so seamlessly taken on an image of humility and obedience, both in the presence of the one he called ‘master’. Instead Hanzo felt conflicted, confused by the perceived freedom, and sorrowful for a reason he did not know, and did not wish to think about.

It was then that Lena came beside Zenyatta, tossing an arm around his shoulder. “How are you, Zenyatta?” She came cheerily, dragging the omnic up the steps and towards the former monastery.

“I-I am well.” The omnic replied, slightly flustered but seeming altogether used to the treatment. Hanzo had never considered how an omnic might look distressed, but this one did. His fingers were clasped patiently together as he floated up the stairs with Lena chatting away happily at his side. McCree circled around to his other side, crossing his arms across his chest.

“I don’t reckon you’ll be joinin’ us for dinner now, would you?” He chuckled, giving a glance back at Hanzo. Hanzo ignored it, his lips pressed into a thin line as he followed silently.

“I will join if you all prefer, though I do not require sustenance.” The omnic gave a rumble that was reminiscent of laughter.

They were led through the stone halls - lit mostly by candlelight, but with hints of more advanced technology spread throughout the building. It was a bit of an oddity, venerable, aged, and modern, all contained within the walls of the monastery. It seemed to fit the omnic that hovered beneath its smoothly vaulted ceilings.

Eventually they came to what seemed to be a dining hall, where bowls had been set out that  Genji was spooning out some sort of broth into.

“Genji insisted upon preparing something special for you all.” Zenyatta said whilst motioning to the man, who let out a soft bit of laughter.

“It is nothing _that_ special. . . Just an old recipe, meant to chase away the cold.” Genji spooned a bit of the broth over the contents of the last bowl, before stepping aside to allow the others to take their place at the table. Zenyatta made his way to the end of it, spreading his hands and beckoning everyone to take a seat.

Hanzo made his way to the table slowly, the aroma of whatever Genji had prepared conjuring up a certain nostalgia within him. It was intensely familiar, yet with a touch of something foreign that kept him wary as he took his seat.

“I was forced to substitute some Nepali spices, so it is a rather. . .untraditional attempt at Japanese cuisine. I hope it is to everyone’s liking.” Genji continued, breaking his chopsticks apart. Hanzo stiffened noticeably as Genji sat down in the space beside him, but Hanzo swallowed thickly. He would not make a scene of this. There was a slight hiss of air as his visor slid back, just enough to reveal his lips. Hanzo made a point not to look, but all the others seemed blissfully ignorant of it, like it was something that had all grown used to. Hanzo envied them.

“I’m sure it’s wonderful, Genji. It smells amazing.” Lena grabbed for her own chopsticks, not waiting even a second more before digging in. “Tastes amazing, too!” She exclaimed around a mouthful, flashing a thumbs up. The others quickly followed suit, devouring their dinner and tossing in a few compliments of their own.

Hanzo, on the other hand, stared blankly at his bowl, watching the broth float aimlessly before his eyes. He knew what this was, why Genji had chosen this meal in particular. There was a horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach, like a grip of ice and iron had seized him and had no intention of letting go. He closed his eyes for just a moment, until the clinking of utensils to his side ceased, an uncomfortable silence emanating from the place Hanzo dreaded to look.

He willed himself to do so, anyway.

Genji’s hand had stilled, and when Hanzo lifted his gaze, he was glad that the mask still covered his brother’s eyes so that he could not see them peering at him. His mouth was void of any smile, and slowly, Genji’s face turned back down to his own bowl.

“Tonkotsu ramen.” Genji muttered, scooping up a few noodles and bringing them to his lips. “ Is it still your favorite?” He sounded wistful but far away, and his words dug deep into Hanzo’s core and dragged up something, _something_ -

Hanzo turned back forward, closing his eyes once more until the searing burn behind them faded. His eyes were faintly wet when they opened, something he easily blinked away as he kept his gaze downcast.

“Yes, it is.” He responded.

He began to eat, ignoring the subtle shaking in his hands as he brought each bite to his mouth. Hanzo found a bit of refuge in the the conversation that had previously been nothing more than white noise in the background.

Between the six of them they chatted and laughed - though Hanzo rarely spoke, something which was in and of itself, quite ordinary. He noticed Genji and McCree seemed quite friendly, something Hanzo should have seen coming a mile away. His brother had always been fascinated by old American films, and McCree looked like he was ready to jump onto a horse and ride off into the sunset.

He rolled his eyes. _Ridiculous_.

A few times McCree tried to pull Hanzo into the conversation, but the elder Shimada merely grunted and ignored him, while simultaneously _also_ ignoring the way it seemed to amuse his brother and the other man to no end. In the midst of their laughter, Hanzo finally spoke up, though only so loud as to be heard by Genji.

“I did not know you could. . .eat.” Hanzo forced awkwardly, one brow arching as he glanced at Genji. Hanzo watched him roll a bit of sliced pork around in his bowl idly.

“I can do more than that, brother. We should spar once again, so I may show you what I am truly capable of.” Genji replied, stuffing the bit of pork in his mouth. A challenging grin spread across his features as he turned to Hanzo, and it faltered when he heard Hanzo’s chopsticks clatter against the table. “Hanzo, I did not - “ He immediately began to recant, as his older brother began to rise.

Hanzo felt the eyes on him, but he did not look up. He had no desire to see the looks of shock or pity etched across their features. As he smoothed down his robes, he gave a small bow.

“I apologize.” He came, his voice stern as he turned on his heel. He heard a scrape of metal as Genji stood up suddenly from the table. “Hanzo.” He called after him sternly.  

“You cannot.” Came the smooth and metallic sound of Zenyatta’s voice to Genji. The resulting grunt of frustration and the sound of something hitting the floor was the last thing Hanzo heard as he retreated down the corridor.

 

-

 

For a long while, Hanzo had stalked the grounds of the former monastery, laying out a mental map of it if for no reason more than to occupy his mind. It was something to do, to stave off the feelings shame from his outburst, and the beginnings of something much darker that coiled deeply in his gut, something which had lied dormant down amongst his bones until now.

He’d managed to find the highest and most secluded place, a small balcony that seemed almost as if it were carved into the side of the mountains the monastery was nestled against. Snow spilled across the crude stone beneath Hanzo’s feet, harsh gusts lashing at his face like icy whips.

He could see the warm glow that radiated from the windows beneath him, and could faintly hear the voices of the other agents that the wind brought up to him. It wasn’t a large enough place overall for Hanzo to truly hide himself away - not without freezing to death. As he looked across the landscape, he wondered briefly how the fingers of Talon could have reached a place like this.

To warrant sending Overwatch agents up to this forgotten monastery, tucked away in the mountains. If even a place like this wasn’t safe, what was? What would have happened to him if it were not his brother who found him in the walls of their home in Hanamura, but an agent of Talon? He had been spiralling out of control, blind with hatred that still threatened to consume him at times.

“The roots of evil find us even here.” A voice came from behind him. Hanzo turned his head around quickly, finding himself faced with the unmoving and tranquil visage of the omnic. His eyes narrowed, mostly in dissatisfaction with himself for not hearing anyone approach.

“No footsteps.” Zenyatta came, seemingly apologetically as he hovered in the doorway. Hanzo felt a touch uneasy at how well the omnic could read him.

“Your brother requested that I speak to you.” The omnic began, a touch of hesitance in his voice.

Hanzo snorted, regarding Zenyatta with a blank look.

“You have nothing to offer me, omnic.” He came simply, turning back to face forward. “I am not like my brother. I am not so naive as to believe I can achieve enlightenment through the words of something less than human.” His words were spoken softly but with a venom, and followed with a displeased huff.

“Perhaps not. But I am doing this to ease his soul, not yours.” Zenyatta came, emitting something akin to a sigh. “And even now, I find the two of you are more alike than you know.”

Hanzo responded in silence, folding his arms over his chest and leaning against the balcony railing. If Zenyatta were not occupying the only exit, he would have left long ago. Instead, he remained there, forcing himself to endure the omnic’s words so that he would hopefully leave soon.

“Both of you have two rivers that flow through you, one of great passion and one of great rage.” The omnic began cryptically, and there was a slight whir from behind Hanzo, followed by a sound not unlike the distant trill of a bell. A strange light spilled across the snow, grabbing Hanzo’s attention and forcing him to glance over his shoulder. In Zenyatta's splayed metal hands he held two glowing orbs, one golden and one an inky black.   

“When one spills over into another, the result is catastrophic - ” The omnic brought his hands together, and the orbs seemed to suck one another in, devouring each other until they were a grotesque and muddied blob. “But - “ The omnic gave a flourish with his hands, enclosing them around the orb before dragging them quickly apart. In his palms the two orbs sat once more, pulsing with pure energy and glowing softly in the night. “ - with discipline, the two may flow together in harmony.”

Hanzo watched as Zenyatta’s fingers closed once more around the orbs. They seemed to disperse into the air like a luminous smoke, before vanishing. He was still, reflecting on the omnic’s words for a moment before pushing himself away from the railing and shaking his head.

“Your _tricks_ mean nothing to me.” He spat out and brushed past Zenyatta, who remained silent as the man stormed off once more.

Hanzo made a beeline for his quarters which he had located earlier, his mind a confused haze. He could feel his risen anger begin to subside, but in the wake of it there was nothing of use, nothing to make sense of but a resonating emptiness.

His feet carried him through a long hallway but stopped automatically when he heard voices echoing from a room to his side.

“Well, you know me - “ The first voice started. It was McCree’s. “ - after all that hullabaloo with the law, I like to keep my head low.”

Hanzo made a face at that. He didn’t know for sure, but that didn’t seem entirely true. Laughter bubbled up from across the room, Genji’s laughter. Again, Hanzo thought back to earlier, how well the two got along. His eyebrow twitched in annoyance.

“If the tales I hear of you are true, then that does not seem to be the case. I had the impression you were quite the troublemaker.” He could hear the smile in Genji’s tone as he spoke teasingly, and it made Hanzo’s chest tight. He leaned against the pillar that concealed him.

“Me? A troublemaker?” The man chuckled, the sound of it carrying into the hall. “I like to think I am more of a trouble- _finder_. Not my fault I’m interestin’.”

Hanzo made a face at that, before gathering himself and steeling his expression. It was childish for a grown man to be eavesdropping the way he was, and it was nothing that should be a topic of interest for Hanzo anyway.

“That you are, my friend.” Genji said, still laughing as he spoke. “Very interesting.” His laughter seemed to taper off as Hanzo passed by the doorway, but Hanzo ignored it, continuing without giving either man a single glance.

The sleeping quarters were a deal less traditional than the rest of the place, though they still followed the trend of the archaic-looking brown walls. On the desk in the corner of the room sat a candle, which seemed a tad ridiculous given the overhead lighting.

On a whim, Hanzo walked across the room and tugged aside the woven curtains. In the frame of the window was a mechanism with a steadily blinking white light, signifying that the Overwatch security system was implemented and functioning throughout the headquarters. He wondered if the place was even as antiquated as it looked - it was nearly impossible to determine.  

His eyes dropped lower, focusing on something outside the window. It seemed to be another balcony, though this one was outfitted with a rather decrepit looking table and no chairs, as well as an ashy basin carved into the floor that looked like a fire pit. He assumed that was where the small wooden door to his side led to. A few pieces of wood were piled by the door, sheltered from the weather by the low wall of the balcony. It seemed a bit. . . _quaint_ , given there were a dozen more useful ways to start and maintain a fire. Without another thought he let the curtain drop, and moved to the pack on his bed to sort out his belongings.

As he rifled through a small selection of folded clothes his fingers closed around something solid and wrapped in the silk ribbon that normally tied his hair back. He pulled it back to reveal a sizeable ivory-colored decanter. He traced his thumb across the blue kanji lettering engraved down the front of it, before furrowing his eyebrows and setting it off to the side.

He knew better than to drink himself into a stupor tonight. He’d spent a time pretending it was any way to deal with himself, but after a while he could no longer stand the bitter, shameful taste of sake on his tongue. It was hard to tell if it even made a difference, when his own volatility was indistinguishable from the effects of alcohol on his systems, making the act of drinking almost futile. It was on the worst of nights that he preferred to brood in a sober silence, and he could not determine whether those nights were becoming more frequent or fewer and farther between.

He moved his things beside his bed, placing his bow carefully against a wall and turning off the lights before settling beneath the sheets. He spent a long time staring through the darkness at the ceiling, before sleep finally claimed him.

When he awoke, he could not recall how long he had lain awake the night before. The bright white of daylight reflecting from the snow filtered through his window and illuminated every stray particle in the air, dyeing the room a dusty blue-grey. He guessed it could be no later than mid morning, and he pushed himself out of bed. His eyes fell on the untouched sake beside his bed, and he was briefly thankful for the lack of a hangover.  

He he had only just entered the kitchen when he heard footsteps behind him. It was Lena, rubbing her eyes and combing back a rather bad case of bedhead with her fingers.

“Morning.” She said, a warm smile spread across her features. Hanzo couldn’t help but notice the way her eyebrows knit above her eyes as she looked at him, almost like she was trying to read the man. _Concern_. He didn’t like it, but he had to expect it in the wake of his outburst the night before.  

“Good morning.” He murmured, turning back to the cabinet and grabbing a mug off of one of the shelves.

Lena came beside him, fumbling below the counter and grabbing a small kettle. She filled it with water and placed it atop the flat black top of the stove. Pressing a button, there was the sound of the heating mechanism powering on, and bluish glow beneath the kettle.

“Fancy a cup of tea?” She asked, leaning over the counter and purposefully inserting herself into Hanzo’s line of sight. His fingers stilled around the mug, before he relented and slid it to her across the counter wordlessly. She gave a slight giggle that turned into a yawn. “Hope you don’t mind loose leaf - ” Lena came, reaching into the pocket of her sweatpants and pulling out a cylindrical tin. “ - it’s my secret stash.” With a wink and another laugh she unscrewed the top, pulling out a metal tea infuser (was it shaped like a cat?) and packing a few dried leaves into it before dropping it into the mug.

“I prefer it, actually.” Hanzo replied, crossing his arms over his chest as Lena moved to the other side of the room. She rifled around in another cabinet, muttering something about where everyone was hiding the sugar and creamer.  

“The others left an hour or so ago,” She piped up, sticking her head out and looking at Hanzo. “Hana said something about shopping. Don’t know where you’re going to shop around here, but who knows. So it’s just you, me, a bunch of mountains. Some snow. Tons of fun, right?” There was a hint of sarcasm in her voice that made Hanzo snort as he looked out the window.

“You did not go with them?” Hanzo asked, eyes narrowing as he saw the empty landing pad. They must have taken the carrier when they went. “Who is flying the ship?” He furrowed his brows when he thought of McCree piloting any sort of aircraft. Certainly not.

“Hana, of course.” Lena said, waving her hand as Hanzo’s eyebrows arched. “And, I was tired, y’know. Jetlag, probably.” The whistling of the kettle brought her back over to stove, which she switched off. “Funny, considering I’m a pilot and all.” She added, pouring the steaming liquid into the mug. She let it sit for a moment, swirling the infuser around a few times as the flavor bled out into the water until it was a dark brown. When it was done she removed the infuser, handing the mug to Hanzo.

“Enjoy.” She said simply, as Hanzo took the mug with a quiet thanks. “We’re receiving our first mission report tomorrow, so I’d relax today. Don’t let the looks of the place fool you, Jack’ll be keeping us on our toes all the same.” She pulled down a mug for herself and packed some new leaves into the infuser. With a nod Hanzo turned to leave.

He spent the remainder of the morning sipping his tea slowly. It had a strange flavor that sat heavily on the back of his tongue, but it wasn’t unpleasant. He busied himself with making rounds of the monastery grounds once more, and by the afternoon he found himself putting on a few extra layers and straying a ways through the mountains. There wasn’t much of anything to see, but the crisp air was refreshing - he enjoyed the openness of it all much more than he enjoyed large cities. By the time the sun was sinking low in the sky Hanzo had wandered back to the monastery. He heard the familiar hum of the carrier, and saw it gliding over the mountains to the south.

He hurried up the steps of the monastery, not wishing to be caught up in any unnecessary interactions. He’d been enjoying the quiet, even if it was a bit mind-numbing. Retiring to his room, he stripped off the extra scarves he’d layered on. The sound of footsteps and loud voices carried through the whole of the building, as people filed in. Hanzo had a hard time believing it was only four people and an omnic producing such a racket, and he huffed in annoyance as he stepped out onto the balcony, and began preparing the fire pit.

Before long Hanzo had himself spread out across the balcony, the cool stone slowly soaking in the heat of the small fire. With his bow resting across his lap, he warmed his small brick of wax briefly and began meticulously waxing the bowstring. His movements were slow and concentrated, but every so often his eyes flicked over to the decanter and cup he’d tentatively set aside for himself. His drew his gloved fingers along his bowstring, which was taut and smooth as he drew it back experimentally, before finally closing his eyes. With knit brows and sigh he deposited his bow to the side and rose to his feet. Within his room he managed to find a shallow iron dish, which he filled with water.

He had only just placed the dish over the fire when the sound of someone knocking on his door stopped him in his tracks.

When he opened the door and saw McCree standing before him, ducking slightly in the low hallway, he wanted to give an amused snort. He didn’t, merely tilting his head and giving the man a once over. He was dressed differently - dark denim and a brown leather jacket. He still wore the same boots, and the jacket sleeve was rolled back to the elbow on his mechanical arm. The most peculiar part was how his hair was tied back into a low tail, and if Hanzo wasn’t mistaken, he would have sworn he smelled aftershave. He did look a deal less. . . _scruffy_ than normal.

 _Sleek and handsome,_ Hana’s words echoed in his mind.

“So, how much were you lookin’ forward to drinkin’ alone tonight?” McCree came with a grin, flashing something he had stuffed in his pocket. It was a glass bottle with some amber liquid sloshing around inside of it. Hanzo glanced at it before turning his gaze back to McCree.

“I was beginning to wonder when you would be back to harass me.” Hanzo came, the sternness in his voice throwing McCree for a loop, the other man’s brows arching all of a sudden.

“I’m not tryin’ to -” He stammered, before Hanzo’s expression softened into one that was more amused. McCree’s shoulders fell as he let out a relieved sigh, but he was surprised again when the other man stepped to the side in clear invitation.

“You are persistent.” Hanzo began, shutting the door once McCree had entered. He turned his back on the man, walking out to the balcony and leaving McCree with nothing to do but follow. He sat back down beside the fire, pulling his bow into his lap and continuing to inspect it.

McCree smirked, leaning against the balcony wall with his hands shoved in his pockets. He looked a bit cold. “Ah, well. People’ve said I’m good at not takin’ a hint.” He came, running a hand over his hair idly. “Don’t know how true that is, but I reckoned you were a bit lonesome.”

Hanzo’s fingers immediately stilled, his eyes narrowing. McCree caught the movement, and he immediately stifled a chuckle as he added, “ - and that’s not pity.”

Hanzo remained silent, seemingly brushing the comment off as he set his bow off to the side once more. Using a cloth he pulled the iron dish from over the fire and set it aside, before reaching for the decanter. He placed it in the heated water, still saying nothing to the other man.

McCree did the only thing he could think to do, which was keep talking.

“I didn’t think I’d get this far, honestly- ” He scratched his beard idly, before admitting “ - and I don’t know what to do with myself, now.”  

The silence between them that followed lasted a bit longer than McCree would have liked, the man fidgeting as Hanzo got up once more, only to return with an extra cup and what looked like a pipe.

“Smoke.” Hanzo offered, one eyebrow raising as he looked at the other man like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Drink.” He added, letting the extra cup thud against the table beside his own. “Talk my ear off, if you must. I do not have anything to say to you.” The words were gruff but in a way that was more honest than insulting.

McCree could talk. He could certainly talk, but the prospect of that didn’t entirely satisfy him. For a while he mulled over his options. He knew what to say to pull Hanzo into a conversation, but he didn’t know if he should risk riling Hanzo up. The silence was there again, and it sat between them thickly.

This time it was Hanzo that broke it.

“Why are you here?” He peered at Jesse, his eyes narrowed and piercing from where he was seated on the ground, before he looked back down to pack a bit of tobacco into the end of his kiseru.

McCree dug into his jacket pocket and set his bottle of bourbon down on the table, along with two glasses, before following suit and pulling out a fresh cigar. Holding it between his teeth gently he lit it up, puffing it once or twice to get it started before pulling it off his lips.

“You’ve got history with one person here, and it’s nothing good.” He started, swapping the cigar to his metal hand and shoving his real one beneath his serape to keep warm. He brought his cigar to his lips, taking a long drag that he blew out his nostrils. “It’s like I said, I reckoned you were drinkin’ alone. I know the look.”

Hanzo kept his eyes downcast as he smoked slowly from his own pipe, glancing up at McCree after a moment. “You are bold to speak of my brother.” He said with a hint of bitterness, before draping one arm over his propped up knee, and giving the other man a challenging stare.

“Too bold?” McCree offered, returning the look with an equal intensity.

“We shall see.” Hanzo snorted, pursing his lips as he looked off to the side. “Tell me then, _troublemaker_ , do people talk about me when I am not there to hear them?” One brow arched high as he questioned the other man, who gave a light chuckle as he stared up at the darkening sky above them.

Hanzo’s eyes traced over the other man’s features and the way they were illuminated by the fire, as well as the subtle curve of his grin as he laughed. He once more felt the tinge of annoyance at the way he was forced to crane his neck to see McCree’s face. It must have shown in his expression because a second later he was settling against the stone floor.

“The name’s Jesse, by the way. Though ‘troublemaker’ is just fine with me.” The man came, smile still spread across his face. After a moment it faded, as his eyes took on a slightly more serious look. “To answer your question - yeah. That’s just what they do. People don’t seem to have the time to do much else but talk and work.”

Hanzo inhaled deeply through his nose, before reaching behind him and taking the decanter from the water. He rolled it in the cloth, feeling how it had warmed quite thoroughly. Eventually he tugged out the cork, pouring some of the clear liquid into both cups. He took one of them, sliding it across the table towards the man.   

“This will warm you up.” Hanzo said simply, eying the man as he lifted the cup of warm sake to his lips. He watched Jesse tilt it back, a pleased expression crossing his features. Hanzo moved to pour himself a glass, when he heard another glass slide across the table. He looked up, and saw a glass of bourbon poured for him, as Jesse twisted the cap back onto his bottle.

“Should warm you up.” He said slyly, giving a playful wink as he returned to sipping slowly at his sake. “Probably get you drunk faster, too.” Jesse added.

Hanzo furrowed his brow as he ignored the man’s look, taking the glass in his hand and swirling it around. It didn’t look like more than one and a half shots, give or take.

"Is that your objective or mine?” Hanzo teased, knocking the glass back and draining its contents entirely. Jesse’s eyes went wide as he just about dropped the tiny ceramic cup he had clenched in his metal hand, and bust out in laughter.

“Think you answered your own question there.” Jesse snorted, pouring himself an equal amount. He looked at it for just a moment, before shrugging. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with givin’ yourself a head start.” He said with a grin, before following suit and tipping his glass back all the way.

Hanzo felt the familiar sweet burn down his throat, like something molten scorching its way down into his stomach. He wasn’t a lightweight - not even slightly, but it had been some time since he last had indulged in hard liquors. He brought his kiseru to his lips, chasing the taste with a puff of smoke that he inhaled and exhaled slowly. After a quiet moment he poured himself a glass of sake which he sipped slowly, savoring the feeling of warm ceramic against his lips.

He looked out over the low stone wall, noticing how quickly night had fallen. It was too cloudy to see more than a spattering of stars here and there, but there was a silver glow that hung in sky where the moon had been partially hidden. Looking back at Jesse, he saw the man blowing a bit of smoke that curled up and disappeared into the night sky.

Upon realizing how pleasant it was, Hanzo sighed and turned his gaze to the cup in his hand.

“I am surprised I could not deter you.” He said finally, dumping the ash from his kiseru into the fire and setting it aside. “No matter how rudely I acted.”

Jesse smiled softly, resting his chin in his hand. “If you’re apologizin’, there’s no need.”

“I am not apologizing.” Hanzo came plainly, levelling the man with an unamused look. It was true - he did not entirely regret his prior rudeness, but neither did he regret relenting and inviting Jesse in this time as much he anticipated he would.

Things were far less. . .strained than he had assumed they would be. He did not feel like conversation was being forced from him, nor did he feel that Jesse had any ulterior motives, like belittling him with pity the way others had done in the past. The drinking and chatting was entirely _casual_ in a way he had not often encountered.  

He supposed that couldn’t last forever.

“You say people speak of me. Have you heard the stories?” Hanzo asked, his expression hardening as he topped his drink off once more. “Do you think you know the sort of person I am?” He didn’t know why he was so intent on souring the mood, but there was already a bitter taste in his mouth. Here, in the wake of the contentedness that had fallen over him, he was angry at himself for being so unguarded.

Jesse looked at him, brows furrowed like he’s trying to figure something out. He ashed his cigar with a tap of his metal finger, before placing it back on his lips and thinking for a long while. He didn’t know how much time had passed before he finally spoke.

“I don’t listen to talk.” He responded simply.

“You should.” Hanzo countered, watching carefully as Jesse leaned forward. He grabbed Hanzo’s empty glass, topping it off and sliding it back across to him. Hanzo reached for it, pulling it to his lips and this time sipping it properly, letting the taste spread over his tongue slowly.

“You know, I could tell you that what sort of person you are depends just as much on what you do as what you’ve already done,” Jesse began slowly, pouring himself a glass as well and tipping it back. He wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his jacket, before shrugging slightly. “But I’ve got a feeling you’re not as interested in a philosophical conversation as you are in convincin’ me I’m wastin’ my time.”

“So you are more perceptive than you look.” Hanzo snorted, glancing over the rim of his glass at the other man.

Jesse raised an eyebrow. “I’m rememberin’ that.” He warned, pointing at Hanzo before tilting his glass back. His half-empty glass scraped against the stone as he set it down. Hanzo watched as he looked off to the side, his expression far-off as a grin tugged at the corners of his lips.

“You ever been on Route 66?”  He finally came, glancing back at Hanzo before looking back up at the sky.

Hanzo shook his head. “I had not been to America before joining Overwatch.”

“Just. . .the sky here got me thinkin’ of a story, back when I used to ride with the Deadlocks - not the proudest days of my life, and not really the most flatterin’ but - ”

Hanzo watched as Jesse kicked his boots up onto the table, tucking his arms behind his head. He started going on about something - what specifically, Hanzo wasn’t entirely sure. He’d more or less tuned him out. A few times he glanced over at the bottle at Jesse's side, every once in a while noticing it get emptier and emptier, until only a small amount of the amber liquid remained.

Hanzo quickly learned that Jesse could _talk._

It wasn’t a bad thing, and surprisingly enough, Hanzo found himself more or less entertained. He wouldn’t admit it, but Jesse was very _easy_ to listen to. Expressive, but not overly so, it was certainly nice to hear the low rumble of his voice fade in with the crackling of the fire. Despite the chill of the snowy mountain air, he felt a warmth in the pit of his stomach that he blamed on the alcohol.

After a long time of staring vacantly up at the sky, or watching the fire burn down to a low smolder, Hanzo realized he could hear nothing save for the crackling of embers. Through the haze of inebriation he glanced over at Jesse, who seemed to have fallen asleep.

With a huff Hanzo rose himself to his feet, swaying just a bit but balancing himself against the wall as he made his way over to the man and knelt before him. He grabbed his shoulder, jostling him lightly.

“Time to wake up, cowboy.” Hanzo muttered, shaking him a bit more when the man said something under his breath, before dozing off once more. Brows furrowing in frustration, Hanzo fisted a hand in the man’s collar. “If you do not think I will let you freeze out here - “

Before he could finish, Jesse awoke with a bit of a start, blinking away the bleariness in his eyes just enough for them to focus on the man in front of him. “Well, howdy.” He came, words slurring just a bit as he spoke. Hanzo rolled his eyes, pulling the man to his feet and releasing his hold on him once he’d regained enough of his balance.

“You, uh -” Jesse started, grabbing his mostly empty bottle of bourbon and stuffing it in his pocket. “You need me to walk you back to your room?” He ran a hand through his hair, watching as Hanzo gathered up his things. He stepped aside, letting Hanzo into the considerably warmer room.

There was a snort from Hanzo as he deposited his things across the table.

“This _is_ my room.” He placed a hand on Jesse’s back, closing the door the the balcony and leading him towards the one that led to the hallway. “And, it is time for you to return to yours.”

Opening the door, he all but shoved the man out of it, leaning against the doorway as Jesse turned to leave.

“Night.” Jesse called nonchalantly over his shoulder. Hanzo watched him go, wondering if he should at least make sure the other man didn’t pass out in the hallway. He decided against it, simply closing the door and collapsing atop his bed. After such an _interesting_ night, it did not take long before sleep claimed him.

 

* * *

 

Drinking alone was a habit Hanzo had broken in Nepal.

It was a habit that would _remain_ broken, because he was unlike the petty drunkards who tossed their troubles into a bag and drowned them beneath seas of cheap alcohol and willful ignorance. Despite everything, there were levels he would not stoop to.

More than anything, he did not drink for the wrong reasons. _Especially_ when one of those wrong reasons came with a gravelly-smooth voice and laughter like smoke and whiskey, that made you feel warm down to your bones and like you wanted to laugh, too. He didn’t drink for charming smiles or messy hair or collars unbuttoned just a _bit_ too far, just enough to make you _wonder -_

Hanzo bit his lip, forcing his mind not to stray. He did not - _would not_ , he stubbornly insisted - drink for any of those reasons.

This is what Hanzo told himself as he poured himself another glass of sake and lifted it to his lips.

  
Not in excess, at least.   

.

.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another chapter with no resolution. . .I promise I will get on with the story soon OTL!! I hope you guys enjoy the chapter anyways. 
> 
> Find me on tumblr at http://seijhoe.tumblr.com/
> 
> Please COMMENT and KUDOS!! It means the world to me <33


	3. Fools

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter took an ungodly amount of time to write.. i am so sorry for the wait but i'm glad i was able to get it done.

When Hanzo awoke, he had a particularly strong desire for a cup of coffee that drew him from his bed and on path to the base’s kitchen. As he walked through the hallways, he guessed it was about mid-morning. He couldn’t confirm it by looking around, for there were virtually no windows throughout the Welsh headquarters - merely lights that synchronized with the time of day, so as to keep agents’ circadian rhythms in check.

He had made his way to the kitchen and escaped with a steaming mug of fresh coffee, which he sipped slowly as he continued to muse about whether or not this base was really as old as it looked. They were meaningless, idle thoughts that stopped in their tracks the moment he heard voices coming from a little further down the hallway and off to his side.

“He’s an idiot.” One voice came, vacant and toneless and followed by a heavy sigh. Hanzo stopped in the doorway, finding Angela with a tablet on her lap and a hand resting against her chin as she stared at the screen with a deadpan expression. Fareeha stood beside her, leaning against the arm of the couch and watching over the other woman’s shoulder with a deal more annoyance written across her features.

Angela looked up first, an unreadable look on her face as her eyes fell over Hanzo. She glanced to the device on her lap, before tapping the screen and apparently pausing whatever had been playing.

“Hanzo, I think you should take a look at this. I was checking the news for casualties, like I always do, and. . .well, perhaps you should see for yourself.” She said, beckoning him with a nod of her head. Fareeha straightened up, crossing her arms over her chest. 

Angela handed the tablet to Hanzo, who turned it towards him. He immediately started, blinking at the paused image on the screen. It seemed to be some sort of news broadcast, complete with a scrolling headline that read ‘OVERWATCH ACTIVITY CONFIRMED IN KING’S ROW’. More interesting, however, was the figure speaking on the screen. It was Jesse, head tilted towards the blonde news reporter with his mouth open like he was in the midst of a sentence. A cigar hung from his lips, the corners of which curled into the lazy, casual grin he so often adopted. Hanzo felt his jaw tense up as he swallowed, and pressed play.

“—It was never gone.” Jesse finished saying, his expression suddenly turning grim. “As for what happened at the Swiss base, well. . . It ain’t my story to tell, ma’am. You’re better off asking someone who was there, if you can find ‘em.” The man laughed, but it was a hollow sound as he ran a hand through his hair. “If you can make ‘em talk.”

The reporter cocked her head, looking to the camera and then back to Jesse. She brought the microphone back to her face. “Why won’t they talk? Is this secrecy about the widely controversial Petras Act?”

There was a snort from Jesse at the mention of the Petras Act, and he took a long drag from his cigar.

“Sign your papers and pass your laws, all those legal bells ‘n’ whistles—you can’t stop the world from happenin’. Everyone’s scared, and if you’re smart, you keep your head down.” He flicked a bit of ash off to the side, briefly watching it as it was whisked away by the breeze. “But you gotta be more than just smart, if you want to get things done.” Jesse added cryptically.

“You don’t seem afraid.” The woman countered.

“I’m afraid of what’s going to happen if the only people willing to do somethin’ about anythin’ keep to battin’ their eyes. I’m afraid of the power we’re giving the bad guys by letting the world think we’re gone.” Jesse’s voice was firm, with a conviction that made something in Hanzo’s chest stir as he watched the recording. 

The reporter responded with a small tapering laugh, and he saw Jesse look off to the side, almost as if realizing the words he was saying weren’t meant to be understood, not yet. He slowly turned, the camera following him as he started to walk away.

“Wait, you’re saying there’s bad guys? Are we safe?” The reporter called after him. Jesse stopped, waiting for a moment before turning back to the camera. With a gloved hand he smoothed his hair back and placed his hat back on his head.

“Are we ever?” Jesse came, tilting the brim of his hat. With that he sauntered off, the camera moving back to the reporter. She brushed her bangs from her brow, looking a little flustered.

“I-I don’t even know if that was legal.” She said, chuckling nervously as she looked back over her shoulder. “I mean, should we—“ The woman was cut off by the sound of an engine turning over. The camera panned to the side, just in time to see Jesse departing on a motorcycle in a streak of black metal.

Hanzo cut the video off there, eyes narrowing.

“Why is this important?” Hanzo said stiffly, his tone making it sound more like a statement than a question as he handed the tablet back to Angela.

“He’s going to cause mass hysteria.” Angela came, her expression steeling. “To go like that on national television, to tactlessly spout things the world is not ready to hear. We have to handle this with a sensitivity that he clearly does not posses.”

Fareeha looked down at Angela, conflict flickering across her features as she cut her eyes to the side. “He might have a point, Angela. There are laws in place—specifically the Petras Act—that only hinder us from action against the lawless. Talon—“

“It isn’t right. The fears we have are not invalid. In the past Overwatch was a force of good, and we all want to return to those days. . .but this is not the way to do that.” Angela cut in, shaking her head.   

It was just then that Lena blinked into the room in a flurry of blueish light that disappeared as quickly as it had come, and left the woman standing behind them in the doorway, her shoulders heaving in exertion.

“I just spoke with Athena. She went back through her logs and, well - “ Lena pulled a small disc from her pocket and held it out. Across the flickering blue surface was the image of McCree’s agent card along with a time and a date--sometime late last night. “ - and I checked the garage, and guess what’s missing?”

Fareeha and Angela were both staring at either the floor or the ceiling, the former with her arms crossed over her chest, and the latter rubbing her index finger across her lower lip pensively.

“One standard-issue motorcycle in gunmetal black.” Lena answered her own question, flashing a big sarcastic grin that faded quickly into an equally exasperated look. Her eyes were downcast, before she glanced up at the other agents.

“He’s going to get in trouble for this.” She came, her voice quiet as she placed one hand on her hip, leaning against the doorframe. “Acting on his own, taking an unregistered Overwatch vehicle. . .and then all the stuff he said this morning.”

“Regardless of how I feel about his message—“ Fareeha looked from Angela to Lena, furrowing her brows. “— stealing the motorcycle alone is enough to warrant a suspension. In most cases I wouldn’t imagine going through with it, but all things considered, it just might happen.” She started firmly, crossing her arms over her chest. She looked at a particular spot on the ground, glaring at it. “We cannot hold any agent—especially not one like him—above the rules. We can’t afford liabilities like that if we want to maintain integrity.”

Lena’s face formed an incredulous look as she stared at Fareeha. “What? ‘One like him’? We grew up with him, and we know he’s not the person he used to be. You can’t seriously think it’d be fair.” Lena came suddenly, taking a step forward. Hanzo watched the scene unroll, feeling oddly out of place as Fareeha turned to Lena with a harsh expression.

She grabbed her forgotten mug of coffee from the table, sloshing the liquid around before taking a sip. “And what he said to the reporter?”

Lena pursed her lips at that, looking off to the side with a weak bit of defiance. “Just a bunch of vague rubbish.” She insisted.

Fareeha looked down to Angela, who was sitting peacefully in her seat. She breathed in heavily through her nose, as the two other women looked to her like they were waiting for her to slam down her gavel and deliver the verdict. After a moment, she threaded her fingers together and folded them in her lap.

“What he said held implications that could cause an adverse reaction in the public.” Angela started, “”However, it is not our judgement to pass. I’m going to report to Jack.” She finished simply.

Both women seemed to be disarmed by that response, the tension in the room beginning to fade. Hanzo glanced between them, watching as Angela stood from the couch before flicking her eyes up at him, and then back to the others.

“First things first, we need someone to go retrieve Jesse.” She began, turning from Hanzo and grabbing both hers and Fareeha’s coffee cups, and starting off towards the kitchen. “I volunteer to do so if I must. . .” Her voice trailed off as she gave one last glance around the room. Hanzo ignored the way her eyes lingered on him just a bit longer than they did on anyone else.

 

“I will do it.” He came gruffly, folding his arms across his chest. Lena and Fareeha turned to him in thinly veiled surprise, as Angela faced forward once more. He caught sight of the fleeting smile on her lips before she disappeared through the doorway.

 

“Wonderful.” She said, voice echoing through the hallway as her footsteps departed.

As he turned on his heel and made his exit, there were many things Hanzo was turning over in his mind. When the door to his room shut behind him heavily, he instantly slammed his hands down against the desk in the corner of the room. The half-empty decanter swayed on the table before stilling once more, and Hanzo loomed over it, rubbing his brow with one hand.

He’d been so foolish as to fall prey to his petty jealousy, to lose his composure the night before in cups of sake—why? Because he had so rashly come to a conclusion that Jesse was sleeping with someone else? He had seen the time on the logs. He knew where Jesse had been the night before and it was  _ not _ with Angela, nor anyone else.

And still, Hanzo told himself he had no reason to have an opinion of such things, and yet he was stuck on that detail—relieved by it, if anything—as if it mattered. It was none of his business. Jesse McCree was a flirt, and nothing more.

Hanzo would not allow it to be more, lest he fool himself into believing that he had a place here. It was a  _ job,  _ a _ duty _ . Just like all the others that had occupied his years since leaving Hanamura, and just like everything always had been before that.

Words echoed in his mind.

_ Criminal records. _

_ He’s not the person he used to be  _

They knew Jesse so  _ well _ , and it was time that Hanzo remembered his place as an outsider. It had always been safer, less complicated, to tread the margins, rootless and disconnected. It was a form of insurance.

Hanzo gathered himself, leaving his lukewarm cup of coffee forgotten and off to the side. As he moved to dress himself, he paused. Fingers hovering over his typical dress of a shortened yukata, he realized that subtlety would be the best approach to this situation. If the public still had nothing more than mere speculation of whether or not Overwatch was involved here, he would not fan the flames of rumor. His hands fell over the most casual shirt he owned and a pair of dark jeans. It would do.

As he glanced in the mirror to tie his hair back, he took a note of how odd it looked to be dressed in civilian clothes with his storm bow slung across his body. With one arched brow he tugged on his archer’s glove, fitting it over his index and middle fingers and clenching his fist as he decided it did not matter.

The second he opened his door, he found Angela approaching from the opposite end of the hall. He exited, quietly shutting the door behind him as the woman fell into step beside him. She did not look at him this time, hands tucked into the pockets of her lab coat as she instead looked at the ground. There was no remnant of clever smiles or unreadable looks, just a calm expression written across her features.

Hanzo was about to question her, but she spoke first.

“ Freigeist.” Angela said with a nod, glancing up at Hanzo. The man blinked once, unable to comprehend the meaning of the word. The woman laughed slightly, but not in a way that was mocking. “It’s German for ‘free spirit’.” She clarified, turning back to face forward.

Hanzo remained silent as they rounded the corner. He suspected she was not done yet.

When they stopped before the door that led to the garage, Angela held her communicator over the pad. Hanzo watched as a projection of her agent card flicked into focus, along with the typical pre-recorded voice of Athena greeting her. He followed suit, and the doors slid open.

“That’s what he is, you know. Despite consequences, he figures things out for himself, even if –“  She paused for a moment, biting her lip before amending her statement, “– no,  _ especially if _ it requires straying from the path.” She said. The words were like a bit of something that hung heavily between them, an invitation or a warning that Hanzo did not know how to take. Instead, he merely looked at her with narrowed eyes before pursing his lips and brushing past.

“We have words for men like him in my language, as well.” Hanzo came shortly, before adding with a slight quirk of his lips, “For the sake of politeness, I will not say them.”

Angela chuckled at this, watching the man select a sleek black car and slide into the driver’s seat. With a press of the button the massive metal doors slid back as the engine revved smoothly to life. The foggy midmorning light flooded in, catching on the clear blue eyes that glinted at him breezily.

“Regardless, I think you should be able to ground him.” She said with an affirming nod, watching Hanzo back the car out of the garage. Without another word she turned to leave, and Hanzo let out a long exhale and forced her statement and his own thoughts to the back of his mind.

Hanzo’s eyes flicked down to the pad that rested between the driver and passenger seats, and he watched as the Overwatch symbol glowed to life, casting a silvery glow throughout the interior of the car before it faded back down. The familiar lilt of Athena’s pre-recorded voice greeted him with a soothing ‘ _ Welcome, Agent Shimada’ _ , before the navigation matrix booted up.

With a swipe of his finger he dragged up a list of all active Overwatch vehicles. There were multiple results, which he eyed carefully before readjusting the parameters. The list shortened considerably, down to only a single unit. He locked onto it.

“Target unit is 394.29 kilometers away.” The automated voice chimed.

“Very well.” Hanzo muttered, flicking his eyes back to the road ahead.

 

* * *

 

 

Jesse’s heart was still beating quickly.

It had been less than an hour since his run-in with the news crew. He hadn’t  _ meant _ to interrupt a national news broadcast, but it had just sort of  _ happened. _

The plan had been to simply retrieve his hat, but plans changed.

By the time he’d navigated his way back to the site of the explosion, his instincts were in full gear. As his boots clicked against the cobblestone, there was something electric beneath his skin, something shouting at him that there was more to this than he’d thought.

Whatever it was, it wasn’t right, and although the pieces had not yet fallen into place, Jesse was hard-pressed to turn a cold shoulder to the feeling roiling in his gut. Shoving aside slabs of concrete with the sole of his boot and brushing away rubble, his beloved hat was not the only thing he’d found buried down amongst the stone and steel.

By the time he found what he needed, tugging his hat free and stumbling back as he tucked it beneath his arm, he realized he’d been noticed.

From that point, he hadn’t had many options.

Now, sitting in a corner booth at a ramen shop called Ichiraku he’d decided looked particularly good, he drummed his fingers against the polished red tabletop. A glance down at the hat in his lap had him fighting the urge to run one metallic thumb across the burnt edge of the brim. A little tattered, a little worn, but still kicking – Jesse wouldn’t lie, he liked it a little better like that.

He gave a sidelong glance at the television, where the same reporter from before was talking to the police. The television was muted, but he didn’t need to hear to tell that he’d caused a bit of a stir.

_ Aren’t you always doin’ that? _

Jesse never understood why trouble loved him so much, why it trailed him closer than his own shadow. He lived it and breathed it, and sometimes he feared he got off on it a little, too.

Not that he’d ever tell anyone that – not that he  _ needed  _ too. 

However, amongst the years of dodged bullets, lucky shots, and a life like a whirlwind lapping at the backs of his heels, part of him had come to love the quiet, too. It was the small simplicities. The drifting ash and billowing smoke from a cigar, or the pleasant cool of a glass of iced tea and the ring of condensation it left on the table. Was he getting boring, or just old?

He didn’t know which one he feared more.

Jesse’s mind was still drifting when the waitress placed the steaming cup of tea before him, and he muttered a vacant ‘thank-you’ without even realizing he’d done so. He was torn back to the place he found all of his thoughts leading to these days, back to dark hair and dark eyes, to  _ Hanzo Shimada _ and questions of where he fit into the array of things Jesse fancied – or if he just occupied the whole damn list.

He buried his face in his gloves, knuckles digging into his eyelids and rubbing the soreness away until he saw a kaleidoscope of black occupy his vision. He was honestly getting  _ tired  _ of chasing after someone so difficult. Every time he felt like he was getting close, there was something else that came up. Maybe Hanzo was genuinely angry about the mission. Maybe Jesse had come on too strong. Was he being overly lewd, overly childish? If Hanzo found his whole damn personality off-putting, then that was that. Jesse couldn’t blame him, but he also couldn’t really give a damn enough to change. He would just have to stop pursuing, stop tripping all over himself for a man who probably only saw him as a colleague and occasional annoyance

The thunk of something against the table had him opening his eyes, blinking blearily as they adjusted once more to the light. He didn’t hear what the waitress said but saw her retreating back, and he turned back down to the bowl of ramen in front of him. His spirits lifted along with the steam from the bowl, and upon breaking apart his chopsticks he dispelled the thoughts from his mind.

A few times during his meal and Jesse found his free hand lingering over his breast pocket, feeling beneath the chambray for the shape of the plastic scraps he’d taken from amongst the rubble. With a cautious glance around, he pulled one of them free, laying on the table beside his bowl. He lifted another scoop of noodles to his mouth, his eyes scanning across the scarred white lettering across the bottom. Placing the next scrap beside it he rearranged them as he fruitlessly chased a bit of chicken with his chopsticks, before placing them to the side. Instead, he put his chin into the palm of his hand, fingers drumming across the tabletop once more.

As he kicked his boots up on the opposite side of the booth, he realized just how long it had been since he’d felt lonesome like this. It wasn’t a bad thing at all. In fact, it was a breath of fresh air from the not-so-good old days that he could smell the desert on as it gusted past his face. He’d always done his best work when he was alone.

_ When you’re not trippin’ all over yourself. _

Jesse brushed his fingers over his cheek, feeling the hardened ridge of the scab that had formed along his cheek from where Hanzo’s arrow had caught him the day before. As he thought once more about the other man, about everything he entailed, Jesse had no choice but to bury his face in his hands once more as he realized how cyclical his thoughts were becoming these days.

Before he could engage in a bout of mental self-flagellation, someone stepped in front of his table.

“Cup of coffee if you would, ma’am.” Jesse stretched his neck as he turned his head slowly, eyes falling over the face of someone who was definitely  _ not  _ his waitress. It was Hanzo, dressed head to toe in civilian clothes that looked criminally good on the man. Jesse couldn’t help when his eyes drifted down past his chin, to the unbuttoned collar of the shirt he was wearing. Someone needed to tell Hanzo that he can’t just wear a Henley like that and be  _ subtle  _ at the same time.  

“Cream and sugar?” Hanzo asked with a grim delivery unbefitting that of a joke. It made Jesse’s throat tight as the man glowered at him and slid into the booth. Jesse quickly moved his feet, planting them back on the floor to make room for the other man.

“Actually, I take it black.” Jesse quipped, resting his cheek in his gloved hand.

Hanzo crossed his arms over his chest, “That is a lie.”

“That means you’re payin’ attention.”

“I always pay attention.”

Jesse snorted, watching as Hanzo leaned against the table. His expression made Jesse feel like ice, and so he leaned back, swallowing his better judgement and tilting his chin up to stare challengingly back. Hanzo’s eyebrow twitched and he gave a huff.

“What are you doing here, Jesse?” Hanzo asked, his tongue halting for just a moment on the syllables of the other man’s name. The way he’d said it was almost like a second thought, and the way he recoiled so subtly afterwards made Jesse think he hadn’t meant to say it at all. “The other agents,” Hanzo started, eyes darting away for a split second as he began stiffly, “—they spoke of your potential suspension.”

“I reckon you caught the mornin’ news.” Jesse cocked an eyebrow. Hanzo’s unamused stare gave him the confirmation he didn’t really need.

“I saw.”

The sound of wood breaking had Jesse looking up, watching as Hanzo broke apart another pair of chopsticks. Before he knew it Hanzo had swiped his bowl of ramen from in front of him, holding it before his face. He took a sip of the broth, pursing his lips critically as if deciding whether or not it was to his liking. “Are you not a wanted man? You do not fear anyone coming after you?” He asked, chopsticks diving after a piece of meat.

Jesse furrowed his brow. He supposed it had only been getting cold, anyway.

“I don’t think I’m wanted for anything in London. Not yet.” He gave a teasing wink, before taking his glass of water in his hand and tilting it towards himself idly. “Besides, if the police were competent, we wouldn’t be here in the first place.” Jesse came with an air of nonchalance.

“If what you have told me is true,  _ cowboy _ ,” Hanzo set the empty bowl back down against the table, “—then the incompetence of the police has been somewhat of a plague to you. Competent enough to identify you—“

“—But not enough to know I wasn’t the one who did it. Dramatic irony at its finest.” Jesse finished dryly. He turned his head up to the ceiling and dragged a hand through his hair. “Maybe you’re right. They’ll find  _ somethin’  _ to blame me for.”

As Hanzo rose from the table, Jesse gathered the scraps and placed them back in his pocket, before sliding out of the booth as well.

“So, this count as a date then?” Jesse teased, tugging his wallet from his back pocket. He heard Hanzo snort as he laid a few bills down at the end of the table. He immediately bit his tongue, wondering what the hell had happened to his plan to stop being so transparent.

 

He flicked his eyes up at Hanzo, catching the man looking at him briefly. He didn’t seem annoyed like he usually did, and now that he thought about it, the other man was acting  _ differently.  _ It was enough to make Jesse hope, even if just a bit.

“Hardly.” Hanzo was already turning on his heel and walking away as Jesse hurried to catch up with him and fell into step.

They walked out of the shop quickly, Jesse made a move toward the motorcycle, only to feel a hand painfully grip his upper arm, and pull him away. “Not a chance.” Hanzo muttered, pulling the man towards the sleek black car parked on the street. Glancing over his shoulder as Jesse wrested his arm free, Hanzo released him, before opening the door and ducking into the driver’s seat. As Jesse rounded the car, he took note of the tinted windows.

When he slid into the passenger seat, Jesse couldn’t help but pause at the oddity of the situation. He’d never seen Hanzo drive a car, and he’d certainly never seen him in civilian clothing this closely. He’d seen Hanzo train from far away once or twice, wearing a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants rolled up to the knees. Metal boots, and something reminiscent of black tabi seeming to be the only recurring factor in every outfit. He looked away, eyes looking out the window instead so he’d stop staring, and so he could pretend he hadn’t been paying such close attention to the clothes Hanzo wore. It didn’t stop him from thinking, though.

It was so  _ mundane _ , like they were just  _ people. _

Because they were  _ just people _ .

Jesse pulled a cigar from his pocket, one that was half-smoked that he’d stashed away. He didn’t light it yet, just let it hang on his lips as he turned to Hanzo.

Then again,  _ just people _ didn’t do the things they did.

He pulled the scraps from his breast pocket, laying them on the dashboard.

“There was a sniper.” Jesse said firmly, gesturing to the array of exploded bits. They apparently weren’t the shining proof to Hanzo, who simply looked at him. Jesse’s brow knitted, as he selected two pieces in particular. He handed them to Hanzo, who scrutinized them. His eyes widened ever so slightly when he rearranged them so that the white string of numbers and letters seemed to line up. That alone was reassuring to Jesse, who leaned back in his seat.

“That’s a serial number for a type of long-range detonation bomb—you’re a sniper. You ever worked with ‘em?” Jesse fished into his jeans pocket, pulling out his zippo. He flicked the lid back and brought the flame to the end of his cigar, lighting it.

“No. Explosions lack subtlety. Finesse.” He came, tilting his chin up airily. “There is no mastery in blowing things up like a maniac.”

Jesse made a face at that, but altogether agreed with a low chuckle.

“Think about it.” He started, taking a drag from his cigar and tucking his other arm behind his head. “We come out into the clearing—the one that was rigged with these bombs. You’re linin’ up a shot, I’ve already caught our target in the leg. Standin’ still like that and both of us still have our heads clean on our shoulders. There’s no detonator on our target, we would’ve seen him use it.”

Hanzo handed the scraps back to him. “There would be no one in the adjacent buildings, if they were rigged.” He said, expression pensive as he considered Jesse’s words. “Talon would not waste resources like that.”

Jesse nodded in agreement.

“Someone far away was holding the detonator when those bombs went off, someone who didn’t take a shot.” Jesse remembered the chill that had gone down his spine, the prickling of hairs at the back of his neck. It had been more than the bombs—he’d just so happened to look in the right place in the right time. What he’d felt were  _ eyes _ , peering at him from somewhere he didn’t have the time to figure out. “You said it yourself—Talon wouldn’t waste resources. Why detonate it on the two of us when there were  _ four  _ other agents who could finish the job?”

“Because a second longer, and that man would’ve been dead on the pavement.” Hanzo countered, crossing his arms over his chest.

“If they were  _ really  _ trying to save the poor bastard, you think I would’ve gotten a shot off without that sniper turnin’ my head into a fine mist? Could’ve just shot us dead.” Jesse blew a bit of smoke out, shrugging. “Hell of a lot straighter and to the point.”

Hanzo breathed in slowly, hands resting back against the steering wheel.

“You’re saying we were being watched, not eliminated.” He finally came, cutting his eyes towards Jesse.

Jesse took a long drag from his cigar, rolling down the window just enough to ash his cigar out of it. He let the smoke puff out through his nostrils, and he waved it away out the cracked window. “Didn’t know why I’d been so restless since yesterday, until I put it together.” He placed the cigar between his teeth, speaking around it. “Part of me knew somethin’ wasn’t right from the start.”

Hanzo’s eyes flicked back, looking through the windshield and at the blank slate of a grey sky above them. A breeze came, swirling the smoke that wafted from Jesse’s lips through the interior of the car, before dragging it once more out the window. There was a chill in the air, and the atmosphere seemed heavy, like skies were holding back an afternoon storm but losing their grip.

“We need to go back, then.” Hanzo said, watching a single drop land on the glass, before sliding all the way down. “Find out where the sniper was, see if we can confirm that there ever was one.”

“We’ll have to wait for the news crew to clear out, if they haven’t already.” Jesse added, stubbing out his cigar on his metal arm and placing it into the cup holder.

“We cannot wait long. They were—“ Hanzo started, looking to Jesse and watching him roll up the window. A smokiness still hung in the car, but it didn’t seem to bother either of them. Hanzo knitted his brow. “The others, they said you could be suspended for this. I, too, am at a loss for why you acted so recklessly.”

A few more rain drops landed against the windshield, Jesse watching them idly.

“Can’t explain it.” Jesse shook his head, looking a bit mystified himself. “I just did it.”

Thunder rumbled overhead, followed by a weighty silence.

“It can be difficult to explain acting on one’s instinct, because the trust in it is yours alone.” Hanzo said simply, turning the key in the ignition. He glanced over at Jesse, and then past him as he backed the car up, and started back towards the site of the explosion. "I understand that, the appeal of working by oneself.” He added, his words trailing off like he wanted to add more. He didn’t.

Jesse simply stared straight forward, eyebrows arched in pleasant surprise at the fact that Hanzo had put words to the vague feelings in his mind. He wanted to look over at the man, to see the profile of his face as he gazed straight ahead at the road, all stony seriousness and cool calculation. Jesse pushed the urge away with a shake of his head, relaxing back in the seat. “Will you miss me, if Jack really does give me the boot?” He asked with a teasing smile.

A snort came from beside him.

“No.” Hanzo retorted instantly.

Jesse grinned harder, chuckling beneath his breath.

The showers came and passed as they sat a block or so away from where the explosion had been. Not many people dared to go near it, save for a few who lingered around, waving around cellphones, trying to snap a picture of anything and everything that seemed halfway interesting.

Once or twice Jesse lifted his hat from atop his face, glancing from where he’d leaned his seat back and watching the police wave them off. Jesse laughed when one especially adventurous girl stepped over the yellow caution tape, sneaking behind the police to snap a picture of what seemed to be a spatter of dried blood against the pavement. The second the flash went off, one of the policemen whirled around, shooing the girl away and making a swipe for her phone. The girl dashed away, ducking beneath the yellow tape and running off like a criminal. The policeman threw his arms up, leaning back against the hood of his car and rubbing his temples.

_ Poor bastards,  _ Jesse thought.

He let his hat drop back down over his eyes, and he drifted off once more.

It must’ve been some time later when a hand on his shoulder shook him awake. He instantly leaned forward, hat slipping into his lap as he placed his boots on the ground. He looked over to Hanzo, who was looking ahead.

The news van was departing, and the faint sound of engines turning over could be heard as the police cars did the same. They must’ve managed to ward off most of the straggling civilians, because there wasn’t a soul left in the area.

Hanzo look at Jesse, and they quickly exited the car.

They were able to retrace their steps, an easy task seeing as they’d both been in the area less than a day ago, and Jesse even less than that. It didn’t take long for them to be standing among the crumbling stone and steel skeletons of the buildings they’d been trapped under, staring up at the exploded facades.

Hanzo kicked a scrap of exploded bomb casing, just like the ones Jesse had gathered. It skittered across the ground, Hanzo’s eyes following it until looking up and around. The buildings on the far side of the area were still intact, despite a few windows that must have shattered inward from the force of the blast.

“What about up there?” Jesse said, shading his eyes from the sun that had only just started to appear from behind the cover of clouds. He almost wished he hadn’t left his hat behind in the car, but they  _ were  _ trying to lay low.

Following the man’s gaze, Hanzo looked up to the top of one of the buildings. It would’ve had a clear enough view, certainly. More than that, it would’ve been almost  _ embarrassing  _ not to have seen someone from that length away. Hanzo huffed lightly, frowning. “Easily, if they were any good at all.” He muttered, taking a step forward, eyes still fixed on that spot.

In a moment he was sucking in his breath, eyes wide as they focused on something much further in the distance.

“Unless,” Hanzo couldn’t help the way his eyebrow twitched in a mix of annoyance and admiration. “—they were  _ very  _ good.”

Jesse frowned, stepped up right beside Hanzo, trying to follow his eyes. He had to squint to see, but when he realized what it was that Hanzo was implying, he felt the same gripping feeling in his gut that had brought him back here in the first place.

Running a hand through his hair, Jesse let out a low whistle. “Gives a whole new meanin’ to the ‘London Eye’, doesn’t it.” He chuckled, looking at where the tip of the enormous Ferris wheel emerged over the top of the building. It didn’t seem to be moving at all from where they stood, and Jesse narrowed his eyes. “You think it’s closed because of the explosions?”

“I do not know, but I will find out.” Hanzo came quickly, turning on his heel. Jesse made to follow him, but was stopped by Hanzo’s hand on his shoulder. “You, stay here. I want to see something.”

 

* * *

Hanzo’s hands gripped tightly around a metal beam, looking over his shoulder. Jesse had been right—the location was devoid of the usual tourists and swathes of people that flocked to it. He was silently thankful for the hysteria Talon had managed to induce, and for the ignorance of the public to what it even was causing havoc in their cities. It was a somewhat grim lie, but the truth wasn’t much better.

It made his job easier, at least.

Static from the communicator crackled in his ear.

“You know,” Jesse’s voice sounded over it, sounding faintly amused, “When you said you wanted to see somethin’, it never struck me that you meant ‘climb to the top of the London Eye and shoot an arrow at you from across the goddamn Thames.”

Hanzo looked up above him, eyes focused ahead as he pushed himself further up with his feet, hands sliding into a firm grip above him. A heavy gust of wind blew a strand of hair back from his face, and the giant metal frame creaked and groaned beneath his fingers. He didn’t dare look back down.

“Y’know, if you fall, you can just aim for the water.” Jesse came again, his voice cool but laced with a touch of concern that he was doing a good job of hiding. It didn’t elude Hanzo, however.

“Stop talking.” Hanzo bit out, pulling himself further toward the inside of the wheel as he made his way to the top of the curve. He was only a foot from the capsule that came right before the one at the peak. With a somewhat risky lunge he managed to close the gap, finger’s grasping at the edge of the platform. Gritting his teeth, he reached into his pocket, pulling out a sleek silver device. He attached to the metal door and pressed the button on the end. Immediately, there was a sound of the locking system being overridden, the doors hissing and sliding back.

Hanzo heaved himself up and into the capsule, falling onto his back. He remained there for a moment, catching his breath before rolling himself over, and pushing himself to his knees. His eyes scanned the floor of the capsule, looking for something that would confirm Jesse’s theory. This had to be the right capsule. If the sniper had been at the very top to detonate the bombs, and the ride had made a full rotation to get everybody off in the wake of the explosion—

He stopped. In the middle of the capsule there were three groves in the shape of a triangle, each point roughly a foot apart. In the center there was another light indention—the same marks left by a sniper’s stand. He looked around, looking at the rest of the capsule floor. The interior was immaculate, the floors well-kept despite how many feet had probably scuffed around them.

“Your sniper was here.” Hanzo said to the communicator. He heard the satisfied click of a tongue in response.

Hanzo lifted to his feet, eyes trailing forward, out the pane of glass directly in front of him. Across the river, he could make out the clearing where Jesse had been, could see the crumbling faces of the buildings. His fingers reached back, grazing lightly over his bow. He almost reached for it, considering kicking out one of the glass panels and shooting the arrow from there. He decided against it.

Instead, he moved back to the open doors, feeling the gentle breeze that came through them, tousling his hair. Again, he didn’t dare look down, instead grabbing the top of the doorway and pulling himself up so that he was now on top of the capsule. He slowly, carefully stood to his feet, and felt around for a firm stance atop the slightly rounded top of the capsule.

When he found it, he drew his bow, only then looking down. He raised an eyebrow, looking down to the ground that sat like a subtle threat several hundreds of feet below him. Hanzo snorted, pulling the single arrow he’d brought with him from the quiver, and notching it into place.

He wasn’t afraid of the height, and if anything, he felt calm looking out across the sprawl of the city, a cloudy grey sky stretched out above it. He felt in his element.

He took a second to aim it, eyes slipping shut to feel the wind, running the needed calculations in his mind. He could feel the way the metal creaked beneath him, could feel the faint shudder beneath his feet and the air whipping his hair around as it gusted past his face. The moment his eyes snapped open, he released the string, the fleeting whistle of the arrow as it sliced through the air like music to his ears.

He huffed in satisfaction, shrugging his bow once more across his body.

A second later, and he heard Jesse’s voice over the communicator.

“Nice shootin’.” He came, sounding fairly breathless, like he’d just been spooked. “Just about took my good hand clean off. . .but I suppose I’m lucky you weren’t aiming for my head.”

“Was I not? The wind must have changed.” Hanzo said, his voice too serious for it to  _ really  _ sound like a joke.

There was a somewhat nervous chuckle from the other side of the communicator. Hanzo smiled to himself, sliding from the top of the capsule and catching himself on the metal beam. The way down was far less daunting, gravity now working  _ with  _ him, rather than  _ against  _ him. When his feet finally met the solid earth beneath him, he was almost disappointed.

He made his way back as quietly and subtly as he could. He caught site of Jesse leaning against the black car, parked beside the river. He was twirling the arrow between his fingers, staring off across the water and at the quickly darkening sky. The clouds from before had returned just before Hanzo had made his climb, and were continuing to block out what little of a sunset could be seen.

When Jesse saw the man, he circled around the car, stepping right up to him.

“You’re impressive.” He said, watching surprise, followed by confusion, flick across Hanzo’s features before the man finally decided on a scowl.

“The lengths I have gone to, to impress insatiable men—it is no longer any goal of mine.” Hanzo came cryptically, before cutting his eyes up at Jesse. “I was not trying to impress you.” He finished solemnly.

Jesse laughed, understanding Hanzo a little bit more than he knew, and perhaps a little more than he wanted to. He handed the arrow back to the man, who placed it back in his quiver. He opened the door to the backseat, depositing both the bow and the quiver inside.

When he closed it, he looked up to find Jesse still standing in front of him, unmoving.

“I’m a little envious.” Jesse said with a knitted brow, looking down at Hanzo. “Take it from someone who’s been tryin’ for a little bit too long.”

“To do what?” Hanzo asked stiffly, meeting Jesse’s gaze challengingly.

“To impress you.”

“Why?”

“You know why.”

That was enough. Hanzo made to turn away, but stopped only when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up, shrugging it off when he met Jesse’s eyes. He didn’t try to move, this time. “Then you must know why your endeavor is pointless.” Hanzo murmured.

There was a low rumble of laughter from Jesse, who ran a hand through his hair. Hanzo watched the action more closely than he should have, his chest tight.

“I don’t.” Jesse said back as he shook his head, cocking an eyebrow. He looked so sure of himself, smiling at Hanzo in the lazy he way he did. “And if I’m readin’ this wrong, tell me and I’ll stop.” Jesse muttered, the knuckles of his real hand brushing against the curve of Hanzo’s waist. There was no one around them to see as Jesse leaned in, no one to watch Hanzo attempt to step back, only to find himself pressed flush against the car.

Hanzo’s mouth opened in surprise as he took a quick intake of breath, unable to conjure up a single word. Instead, his hand shot out, fitting between their faces and cupping over Jesse’s mouth. Hanzo held him fast, faintly trembling fingers digging beneath the other man’s cheekbones.

Jesse could feel the barest hint of nails biting into his flesh, and for a moment, he thought he’d made a mistake.

“What. . .are you doing?” The low mumbled words were more of an exasperated statement than a question. Hanzo looked at him with eyes that were forcibly calm, the only semblance of emotion being the subtle dilation of his pupils.

Slowly, Jesse lifted a hand to Hanzo’s, letting it slip loosely around his wrist. The rough pad of Jesse’s thumb rested against his pulse, feeling it as it continued thrumming wildly beneath his touch. It was as much of an affirmation as any, and so Jesse gave it a bit of pressure, leading Hanzo’s hand down and away from his face.

Hanzo peered at him, tentatively dropping his hand only to let it brush against the underside of Jesse’s mechanical arm. Jesse wished he could feel it, wanted to know what the other man’s fingers felt like against his skin just once. He’d often wondered what sort of callous the archer’s hands would have, where smooth would turn to rough on his palms like proof of his skill emblazoned onto his flesh.

If he didn’t feel it now, well, he supposed he never would. As much as that thought ate him up inside, it just wasn’t his choice to make anymore. 

“I. . .reckon I was tryin’ to kiss you.” He came, almost apologetically. There was a hint of shame and disappointment in his voice. Hanzo let his arms drop down to his sides, eyes downcast. He scanned the ground, as if it would provide some end to his confusion – over what, he did not know. There was not much to be confused about, and yet still, he found himself conflicted as Jesse took a step back.

“This doesn’t have to be awkward.” Jesse’s voice came, feigning normalcy as he turned away. In the midst of it, Hanzo was suddenly spurred into action, fisting his hands in the other man’s collar and dragging him forward. Jesse caught himself against the car, his metal fingertips scraping against the paint as he became aware of the rough press of lips against his own.

Hanzo was kissing him, eyes wrenched shut and mouth moving firmly against Jesse’s. The way he kissed was staggering and fierce, leaving the other man’s mind reeling as he tried to catch up with the whirlwind of energy that threatened to overcome him. Without thinking he slid a hand around Hanzo’s waist and hiked his shirt up just a bit, and immediately he felt the man arch into the soothing warmth of his palm. Hanzo gave a light shiver of arousal, and reached down to fiddle with the car door.

Jesse felt the barest touch of tongue against his lips at the same moment he heard the click of the door handle, and all of a sudden Hanzo was whirling him around and shoving him into the back seat of the car. Sliding back obediently into the seat as the other man settled over him, Jesse ran his fingers through his hair, letting out a low whistle as Hanzo shut the door quickly behind them. His first instinct was to start talking, but fortunately Hanzo dipped back down and caught his lips once more.

Jesse hadn’t expected to be so overwhelmed, but the way Hanzo was kissing him was spurring him on more than he’d intended. He didn’t know what to do with his hands, but settled on sliding them up Hanzo’s thighs, as Hanzo did the same to his chest. Eventually, the need for oxygen became too apparent and Jesse pulled away, chest heaving as his head lolled back against the seat.

Hanzo had stilled for the moment, his face hovering over Jesse’s as they exchanged the same balmy air. A flush had settled over the both of them, and a second later, realization. Eyes darting away, Hanzo blinked a few times, breathlessly surprised by his own previous fervor. It didn’t seem to have subsided completely, for a moment later he was leaning in to kiss along the rough underside of Jesse’s jaw. It still smelled faintly of pine, a scent Hanzo was happy to breath in as he worked his way down to curve of the other man’s neck.

“You, uh – is this alright?” Jesse came, fumbling for his words as he felt the top button of his shirt pop open, followed quickly by Hanzo’s lips. He swallowed hard, keeping his eyes trained on the roof of the car. “I mean, this’ll suit me just fine, we don’t have to rush into anything – “ Jesse’s words were once more a stumbling mess as teeth scraped across his clavicle, before stilling.

Hanzo lifted his head, peering at Jesse and sliding a hand up the front of his chest as he settled his weight to the side. His fingers stroked across the dusting of brown hair revealed by Jesse’s unbuttoned shirt, eyes trailing all across him before they finally settled on meeting his own in a heavy look.

“Is that what you want?” Hanzo asked.

Jesse thought on that for a moment and then lifted his metal hand up, combing it through the man’s hair. The simple black tie holding it back fell out easily, and Jesse watched entranced as soft, grey-dusted locks slid between his fingers like silk. “I’m fine with whatever you want, darlin’.” He muttered, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips when he cupped Hanzo’s jaw and the man leaned involuntarily into his palm. The lazy way his eyes fell shut was enough to make Jesse’s heart throb painfully in his chest.

There was something oddly comforting about the rough warmth of Jesse’s hand on his cheek, something charming about the way he moved it forward, tilting his jaw up with a knuckle and the pad of his thumb and kissing him softly. The sudden fire that had been urging Hanzo on, arousal crackling in his veins like lightning – it was all gone. The accompanying disquiet in his mind as to what Jesse wanted from him, and his desire to give it to him just so he could be left alone had fled as well, chased away from the hazy comfort that emanated from the man in waves.

Suddenly, Hanzo wanted nothing more than to bury his face in the crook of Jesse’s neck and be  _ still _ .

Just as he broke his mouth away from the other man’s, preparing to do just that, he jerked upwards, eyes cutting to the car window above Jesse. He barely had enough time to shove Jesse’s head down and press himself flat against the car seat when something broke through the window and whirred past them. The projectile attached itself to the back of the driver’s seat with an array of metal hooks and began beeping rapidly.

Without even a second’s hesitation, Jesse was fumbling with the door handle and shoving it open, as Hanzo grabbed for his bow. In a second they toppled out an over the edge of the bank, hitting the water just as the vehicle erupted into a plume of smoke and fire, the explosion sending bits of shrapnel flying it all directions.

When Hanzo opened his eyes, his vision was blurred by muddy green, but he could make out Jesse treading water above him. Swimming up, Hanzo broke the surface and saw the man reaching for his soaked hat, slapping it atop his head and spitting out water.

“What in the—“ Jesse watched the smoke curl up into the sky, eyes wide as Hanzo swam past him. He blinked at the site.

“That was probably your sniper.” Hanzo said, a bit breathlessly and forcing a considerable amount of composure. His face was still burning, though he did not know it was from adrenaline or embarrassment. He made his way to the pier, ignoring the small crowd that had gathered at the edge to gawk at them as he scaled the side of it. The moment he flopped over the top of it he pushed himself to his feet, looking over the edge at Jesse, who was close behind him.

Hanzo wrapped one hand around a post to anchor himself as he leaned far down to help Jesse scramble up over the side as well. When the man collapsed in a soggy heap, Hanzo eyed him, one arm thrown across his stomach as he tried to catch his breath.

Their eyes caught for just a moment, Hanzo tilting his head up staring down the bridge of his nose in that airy, aloof way he always did, and yet somehow it was less piercing, less critical. Jesse smiled back, rising to his elbows. Before he could say anything, however, he was interrupted by the sound of footsteps behind him. He looked past Hanzo, as what looked like a few civilians with their phones stopped a few meters away. 

Hanzo quickly rose, pulling Jesse to his feet as they turned away from the approaching cameras, ignoring the calls of ‘Woah, are you guys alright?’ and ‘What the hell was that?’ that emerged from the small lingering crowd. One particular boy—no more than a teenager it seemed—began to close the distance.

“Leave us be.” Hanzo snapped, words hissed between his teeth as the boy stopped in his tracks. He faltered for a moment, before taking another step forward. “Was that another terrorist attack?” The boy came excitedly, running a hand through his blond hair as he continued babbling, “That was Talon, wasn’t it? And. . .and you guys are with Overwatch? Oh my  _ god. _ ” He turned the phone back to record his own face, his mouth wide in surprise as he turned the camera back to the two.

Hanzo was a single swift movement away from grabbing the device and tossing it into the river when suddenly an arm was thrown around his shoulders. Jesse pulled him close, hat removed from his head and now being used to shield their faces from the camera.

“Go home, kid. It’s not safe out here.” Jesse said, walking the two away and keeping as much of a distance between them and the crowd as he could manage. No one else seemed to have the guts to get in their faces again, but he knew they were still recording. He could also hear the sound of the boy behind him, still talking into his phone.

“Holy shit, they were  _ definitely  _ Overwatch. This is going viral.” He muttered, swaying the camera back to the smoking wreckage of the destroyed car.

Hanzo grunted in distaste as they turned a corner and the chatter of the crowd became more and more distant. He could hear the wail of police sirens making their way down to the pier, the sound of it making his ears ring unpleasantly. Jesse looked down at him, before hesitantly removing his arm. His hand lingered on Hanzo’s back, a welcome warmth as the chill of the evening began to set in.

Once they had gotten a few blocks between them and the pier, Hanzo finally looked at him, his eyes heavy with disapproval.

“You should have let me take the boy’s phone.” Hanzo said, before facing back forward. “Why are you so intent on delivering this ‘message’ of yours?” He added, brow knotted above his eyes.

Jesse twisted his mouth into a pensive expression as he grabbed a cigar from his pocket. It was waterlogged and falling apart, and so he simply tossed it when they passed a trashcan. He then reached for his prosthetic arm and pressed somewhere and a bit of metal slid back. From the small compartment he pulled a fresh cigar, smiling in satisfaction with himself and lighting it up.

Hanzo snorted lightly at that.

The spark from his lighter briefly illuminated his face, catching Hanzo’s attention from the corner of his eyes. He looked back at the man, watching him take a deep drag from the cigar, before blowing it all out at once.

“You know, as terrified as Jack and everyone else is about Overwatch comin’ back – as scared as the whole damn  _ world  _ is, it ain’t fair.” Jesse shook his head, his expression hardening into one that seemed almost foreign on his features. He looked far away, a wistful look in his eyes as distant as the sun that had already set behind the cover of the clouds. “People deserve to know we’re here. I want Talon, the Deadlocks, and any other crooked villains this world has managed to scrape from the sole of its boot to know it, too.”

He ashed cigar off to the side, the breeze carrying it away with a few stray embers that died on the wind.

“Most important, I want people, omnics, whatever – to be able to rest their heads at night and know that there’s someone out there doin’ what their law enforcement has failed to do for decades. Justice has been a long time comin’, but it’s comin’.” Jesse shook his head, not looking at Hanzo as he fell silent, still staring straight ahead as he puffed on his cigar slowly. It was quiet for a while, before Jesse opened his mouth to speak once more. “People deserve the truth, not all this damn pretendin’. If that truth is some video plastered all over social media by a sixteen-year-old, then so be it.” He finished firmly, inhaling heavily through his nose before turning back to Hanzo.

Hanzo held his gaze for moment, feeling the residual passion in his words. It was something so familiar to him, a spark he had seen once before but never dared to grasp. It had always eluded him.

“Very idealistic.” Hanzo came with an exasperated sigh, eyes flicking back up to the sky, “—but life is not like stories we hear as children.”

“Life inspired those stories,” Jesse countered quickly.

Hanzo barked a laugh, though it was more bitter than amused. “Life is why men resort to telling themselves stories.”

“Better than lettin’ the current sweep you up.” Jesse offered with a shrug, once more making Hanzo snort and glance off to the side briefly, before cutting his eyes back at the man. With a tilt of his hat and a slyly flashed grin, Jesse added, “This river sure is wild.”

Hanzo rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest and gazing back forward. A few of the people they passed on the street gave them odd looks, probably because of the dampness of their clothes, or perhaps the bow slung across Hanzo’s back. A few black strands clung to Hanzo’s face and so he combed them back. There was still a rather expectant silence hanging between them, once that Hanzo could not ignore forever.

“You have spirit.” He murmured, his delivery stilted and somewhat awkward. He looked back at the man to try and force a smile, but instead found his eyes tracing over the man’s profile as it lifted to the sky. A bit of smoke wafted from his nostrils, the cigar clutched between metal fingers and glowing soft and warm in the night. On the grace of a bit of wind that gusted past them, making Jesse shudder as he placed a hand back around Hanzo’s waist, Hanzo considered Angela’s words.

_ Freigeist. _

He didn’t entirely understand it, but he was starting to.

“We can change the subject, if you want.” Jesse finally said, turning to him. He leaned his head back, lifting his arm and staring pointedly at Hanzo’s back. “I’m actually interested in your other tattoo.”

Hanzo immediately looked to his arm, confused before he looked over to Jesse, and saw the man wink at him.

“Not talkin’ about that one.” Jesse came, eyes flicking back down to where Hanzo’s damp shirt clung to his skin. Jesse could faintly make out what looked like the same design that encircled Hanzo’s arm, but this time inked onto his hip and disappearing below the hem of his jeans.

Hanzo gave an indignant grunt, pushing Jesse’s arm away and quickening his steps.

“Play your cards right, and you may see it in its entirety.” Hanzo said, not looking back over his shoulder. Jesse’s eyebrows went up at that.

“I’m good at cards.” He said with a grin, “—also, I’ve got a hotel room we can stay in.” Jesse added, his tone changing. He suddenly paused, shaking his head as he caught up with Hanzo. “. . .Not for card-playin’, but for sleeping. I’m not  _ that _ sleazy.” He quickly amended, watching as Hanzo gave him a passing look. He didn’t know if he was shivering from the cold or the way Hanzo looked at him before turning forward, and he hooked his thumbs in his belt, feeling around his pocket to make sure his room key was still there.

Eventually, Jesse had led them back to a relatively inexpensive and cheap looking hotel. The man at the desk looked up from the tabloid he was holding, fixing his eyes on the pair of moderately damp, armed men standing in his lobby, before snapping his gum and blowing another bubble. He looked back down, and flipped to the next page.

Hanzo reluctantly marvelled at Jesse’s ingenious, if not concerning, taste in hotels.

When they got to the room, Jesse opened the door, fumbling around for the light before stepping to the side. Hanzo eyed him and brushed past. He stilled a few feet from the threshold, facing forward until he heard the click of the door shutting. That was when Hanzo turned and cornered him, the look on his face as serious as a threat despite the fact that Hanzo wasn’t looking at him, but rather past him. Jesse sucked in a breath when their chests brushed, Hanzo’s arm reaching beside his head.

Jesse resisted the urge to take hold of Hanzo’s hips, instead keeping his fingers grasping at the air a few inches away. He didn’t dare look away from Hanzo’s face – couldn’t have if he tried. He heard the sound of the security chain sliding and locking into place. With a forced and breathy chuckle, Jesse watched as Hanzo slowly turned his eyes to him. Silent scrutiny greeted Jesse, who swallowed hard. The palpable tension was as electrifying as it was terrifying, and Jesse wished that wasn’t what he damn near loved about Hanzo Shimada.

“Paranoid – ” Jesse muttered, fumbling for words just as Hanzo’s fingers pressed flat against his stomach and slid back to rest in the curve of Jesse’s waist. “ – just like me.” His words were breathy as he finished, and followed by a slight jump when he found himself pressed bodily against the door. “Though I, uh, suppose it ain’t paranoia for people like us.” His voice tapered off to a quiet whisper as Hanzo’s eyes narrowed at him.  

“I am done playing games with you.” Hanzo growled, his hands smoothing up the man’s front and taking ahold of his collar, before capturing his lips with enough force to knock Jesse’s head back against the door. Pain blossomed across his crown but did nothing to deter him from kissing back twice as hard. It was enough to give Jesse the courage to take ahold of Hanzo’s hips and pull them close, which had the man responding readily and grinding against him.

They kissed hard, Hanzo’s hands eventually coming to grasp at the nape of his neck and in his hair, tugging lightly and urging him on. The swipe of a tongue against his lower lip had Hanzo gasping and letting Jesse dominate the kiss. The other man did so with a practiced ease and a bit of something frantic edging him on, leading him to gather Hanzo up in his arms.

Legs wrapped eagerly around Jesse’s waist as he walked them back, breaking away for just a moment to spot the bed, and another to fall down on top of it in an unceremonious heap. Jesse had Hanzo beneath him, mouths stilled for the moment as they stared at each other, lips parted as heavy breaths passed over them. A vague and static warmth buzzed beneath the surface, and Jesse felt it in Hanzo too when he slid his hand up the heated flesh of his chest. He hiked the shirt up with it, recoiling when Hanzo moved to finish the job, tossing his shirt off to the side.

Jesse couldn’t help the way his eyes widened at the slight swell of Hanzo’s muscular chest, littered with faint scars. Some of them were thin, blade-straight and white, while others raised from his flesh in dark patches. As if in embarrassment, Hanzo wrenched Jesse down by his collar, kissing him once more if only to keep his eyes off of him. Jesse was happy to comply, especially when he felt fingers sliding the buttons through the fabric of his own shirt before it was tugged down his shoulders.

“Le’ me get that.” He whispered against Hanzo’s lips as he pulled back. To his surprise Hanzo came with him, mouth working beneath his jaw and pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down his neck. An arm wrapped around his waist, holding him flush against him as he suddenly felt the scrape of teeth.

For a moment, Jesse was so caught off guard that he forgot all about the shirt, instead combing his metal fingers through Hanzo’s hair as the man sucked a dark bruise into his skin. With a low breathy half-chuckle, Jesse gathered himself, biting down on his lip as he worked his shirt sleeve easily off one arm, before tugging it over the bulk of his metal arm. He managed to pull it free and toss it somewhere behind them.

Jesse turned back to Hanzo, once more letting gravity tug him down as he claimed Hanzo’s lips, weight pinning the other man to the bed. Hanzo’s mouth was warm, wet, and the way he kissed was as intoxicating and overwhelming as Jesse could have imagined it would be. He made to curl his metal arm beneath Hanzo’s back, but before Jesse could go any further, Hanzo flipped them over, pinning him to the bed. He made no move, only silently staring down as the breath caught in Jesse’s throat.

“I will not fall into your arms like a fool.” Hanzo’s voice was level when he spoke, his dark eyes peering at Jesse and boring holes through him as if he were something to be dissected and figured out. More than that, he looked conflicted, though Jesse didn’t need to read his expression to figure that much out. Jesse’s shoulders relaxed visibly beneath the strong hands that had them flush against the mattress, his body going slack as his head fell back.

“I’ll be the fool if you’re not up for it.” Jesse said, a lazy smile spreading across his features. Hanzo’s eyes narrowed at that, and Jesse felt the faintest bite of fingernails in his bare shoulders as the other man’s fingers squeezed.

“Just like this I have killed a man, for less than nothing.” Hanzo warned, though the unsureness in his voice made it unclear whether he was trying to threaten him or deter him.

Jesse arched his brows, hands coming to rest on Hanzo’s thighs. “Talk dirty to me, darlin’,” He teased, fingers spreading out across the dark denim of Hanzo’s jeans, “—you’re makin’ me all shivery.”

Hanzo grimaced at the man beneath him, closing his eyes and blowing his breath out slowly.

“I am tired of being toyed with. It is. . .degrading.” Hanzo finally said, looking at Jesse with a harsh look.

Jesse’s face fell at that. He didn’t know what he’d done wrong, but he was damn sure it was his fault. It wouldn’t be the first time he got accused of such, only normally, the person doing the accusing was  _ right _ . Suddenly, he found himself inundated by guilt, his brain searching frantically to find the words for his tongue to speak. He finally managed to sputter out a curt and unintelligent “what”.

Hanzo’s mouth pressed into a thin line as he turned his head away quickly and with an indignant grunt. “The way you act, befriending me, flirting with me so carelessly for months,” He sounded increasingly angry with each word, but his voice never raised, words only cutting deeper and deeper as he spat them. “—Only to do the same to someone else, in my presence no less.” He finished off, the vigor draining from him as he looked to Jesse with a blank expression. “I convinced myself you were a flirt, nothing more, and you expect me to sleep with you?”

Jesse felt the hands pinning him down loosen, and eventually trail back down his chest slowly.

“What is it you want from me?”  Hanzo finished on a rather quiet note, the subsequent silence hanging heavily in the air like smoke. Slowly, Jesse was piecing together Hanzo’s previously confusing behavior. The venomous looks, the complete dismissal, and cold-shoulder he’d received. He thought back to the medbay, the way he’d spoken with Angela and the way Hanzo seemed like he couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

The wildest notion occurred to him, and as he looked up the man atop him, he realized that he hadn’t been coming on too strong at all. He’d simply been too  _ vague  _ about who all those licentious remarks were meant for.

Not that he could really blame himself completely. Hanzo was downright terrifying, even if Jesse liked it a little.

“Maybe I am a little bit of a loose-lipped flirt,” Jesse started, raising to his elbows. Hanzo arched an eyebrow back at him, the look his face making it quite clear that he agreed with Jesse’s self-criticism.  “But I can tell you I ain’t interested in anyone else.” Jesse’s face was hard and honest. It wasn’t a poker face or a bluff or a fake smile that was a well-honed relic from his early years of pleasing the wrong people.

If Hanzo was surprised by Jesse’s words, he didn’t show it. He only let his head fall further forward, not looking at Jesse anymore. He looked a bit like he was frustrated, frustrated that Jesse had said the right thing and frustrated that it didn’t seem like the convenient lie he’d wanted it to be. Hanzo seemed to be looking for every reason  _ not  _ to fall into bed with Jesse McCree, while subsequently coming up empty-handed every time.

Jesse moved forward, skating a hand up the man’s tattooed forearm, up, over his shoulder until he was cupping Hanzo’s neck. His lips moved in, and Hanzo turned away at the scratching of facial hair against his skin. He gritted his teeth when Jesse kissed the corner of his mouth, trailing back and burying his face in the crook of Hanzo’s neck, still kissing.

“I can’t tell you what I want after this, because I don’t know.” Jesse said honestly, roughly, muttering the words into heated skin. Hanzo felt them against his collar and shuddered, his hands taking on their own and burying deep in the messied brown of Jesse’s hair.

“It can be nothing.” Hanzo assured him, his blood running a little cold when he felt the lips pressing along the side of his shoulder still momentarily. ”Empty as words.” He added, quieter.  

“It can be something, too.” Jesse came, trying not to sound hopeful, “but you’re right.”

Hanzo felt himself being turned over, and in a moment he found himself on his back, spread out with Jesse hanging over him. His breath hitched when Jesse’s mouth pulled away, their faces hovering only inches apart. “We got to stop meetin’ like this.” The man chuckled.

Hanzo snorted, his mind recalling the time he’d spent with Jesse pressing down against him. The circumstances had been. . .less than ideal, but it had given him a chance to consider how much he  _ liked  _ the idea of being underneath the other man.

Hanzo’s hand found its way to the hem of Jesse’s jeans, his gaze turning down to chase the line of hair that disappeared past it. He hooked his fingers there, giving a playful tug. “I disagree. It is not often I desire to be in this position with another man.” Hanzo teased back in his own husky, challenging way. “Beneath him, to be exact.” He clarified.

Jesse started, “If you’re saying what I think—“

“I’m saying I want you to fuck me, just like this.” Hanzo cut him off quickly, pleased to watch the man bite his tongue so fast. He could literally feel Jesse get harder against his thigh, Hanzo’s own arousal spiking dangerously. He couldn’t help but let out a small and amused snort as he rubbed his thigh between Jesse’s legs, watching the way the man bit his lip and squirmed just a little. “Your gun is digging into my thigh, again.” Hanzo teased, the corners of his eyes crinkling faintly.

Red flushed all the way down to Jesse’s chest, but he managed to keep his face cool, embarrassment only showing in the way his eyes darted away for only a brief moment. He breathed out with a slight hum, before sliding his metal hand around and hooking it in the curve of Hanzo’s back. In response Hanzo’s body pressed harder against him as he pulled him closer. Their lips met as Jesse tried to stifle a small laugh.

“You knew, huh?” He said, and Hanzo felt the chuckle against his mouth.

“It was too big to be a gun.” Hanzo said, following with a quick press of his lips as he began to work at Jesse’s belt, unfastening it and pulling it free from his jeans. Jesse didn’t know whether to let his chest puff in pride or to soothe his burning face in the cool metal of his palm, and so he settled on doing a little of both, muttering something about the death of him.

Smiling in smug satisfaction, Hanzo tossed the belt off to the side before jerking Jesse’s unbuttoned jeans down low on his thighs. Jesse pulled them off the rest of the way, letting them fall behind him somewhere on the floor. When he crawled back on top of Hanzo, he saw the man tugging off his own jeans. He could see the body of the serpent curling around Hanzo’s upper thigh, disappearing beneath black briefs and reappearing just above them on his hip.

Eagerly, he reached forward, moving Hanzo’s hands away and finishing the job himself. He was enthralled with the sight of it, the clouds and scales meticulously inked into his flesh, encircling more and more of him until Jesse pulled them off entirely and tossed them aside. Hanzo didn’t seem shy when Jesse spread his thighs and instantly ducked between them, letting his lips brush against the inside of the other man’s knee.

“You’re too damn much.” Hanzo felt the heat of his words against his skin, followed by hands smoothing along the outside of his thighs, and Jesse’s mouth worked hotly along the inside. He started high, sucking a mark into the back of his knee before trailing down, biting and sucking his way, almost following the curve of the inked dragon’s body with his lips. He knew any hickeys he left wouldn’t show up amongst the ink, and so he swapped to the other unmarked thigh, sinking his teeth into the flesh and feeling Hanzo moan above him, fingers scraping against his scalp.

Jesse was urged on when his fingers slid beneath the slick fabric of Hanzo’s briefs, hiking them up so he could bite right there at the junction of his thigh. The way Hanzo moved, legs clenching around his head suddenly but with a shred of restraint, made Jesse groan and finally lose patience. He finally hooked his fingers in the black material and tugged it down, watching the man’s cock spring free, pressing against his stomach.

After tossing the clothing aside, Jesse moved his hand once more along the inside of Hanzo’s thigh, this time dragging all the way up. His fingers slid along the curve of Hanzo’s ass as his palm grazed the length of his cock, making Hanzo’s eyes go a little hazy as he looked at Jesse with anticipation.

It was as much an invitation as any and so Jesse leaned down, mouthing along Hanzo’s shaft before taking it in his mouth. He bobbed his head, sucking the man languidly before letting it fall from his mouth with a pop. He ran a stripe with his tongue from base to tip, before bringing his hand up to press in the cleft of Hanzo’s ass. Suddenly he stilled, both thumbs of both hands rubbing soothingly against Hanzo’s skin.

“Which do you prefer?” Jesse came, gesturing down with his head. Hanzo furrowed his brow, raising from where he had sunk against the pillows to get a better look. It clicked instantly, his eyes tracing along the sight of Jesse’s metal arm. He was able to see it better now, follow the armored contours and the softly glowing lights. He then looked to the other one, strong but fleshy and spattered with light brown hair and freckles all the way to his shoulders. Before he knew it his gaze was wandering further, the question forgotten as he let his eyes roam over his broad chest and muscled abdomen. The curve of his cock beneath his boxers was just as enticing, as were the arrays of raised scars and bursts of discolored skin where a bullet must have caught him some long time ago.

It was the first time Hanzo had openly ogled the other man, and his breath caught in his throat when a hand squeezed his hip gently. Hanzo looked up, immediately knitting his brows and giving a light huff.

“I do not care.” He said gruffly, head falling back down against the pillows as the man cradling his hips chuckled.

“Hope you don’t mind metal, then.” Jesse said, leaning over to rummage in the bedside drawer. If there was one thing he liked about his penchant for selecting sleazy hotels, it was the fact that they were always prepared. And cheap.

He came back with a roll of foil packets, ripping one off and tossing the rest to the side. He tore it open with his teeth and spread the lube across his metal fingers, before settling between Hanzo’s legs. Jesse liked the way they spread for him as he leaned forward. He wouldn’t lie—he was a bit surprised by how  _ compliant  _ Hanzo was being, laying back and receiving him, thighs parting for Jesse in an instant and with an expression that was almost begging to be fucked.

It was arousing to say the least, especially when he dragged his slick fingers up the curve off his ass. They caught against Hanzo’s hole and he prodded slightly, watching the way the man’s face grew even darker with want, eyes lidded and mouth opening to let the light groans spill out. He could tell the metal was something new, something Hanzo hadn’t felt but was starting to like, if the way he shivered and gripped Jesse tighter was anything to go by.

Jesse liked that. 

“Keep going.” Hanzo bucked against his hand, feeling the strange sensation rapidly heating metal when Jesse’s fingers slipped inside of him. It was a solid, thick feeling of being stretched, and he gripped the man tightly, biting his lip to try not and moan out as those fingers worked inside him deeper. Jesse thrusted them slowly, remembering the night before when he’d lost himself in thoughts that so closely resembled the sight in front of him that he had to stop and wonder if it was real. He smirked wide, grinding his fingers knuckle deep inside of Hanzo and curling them to find—

The was a jump and a gasp as Hanzo clenched around him tight, eyes rolling back when Jesse pressed against the spot harder. Their bodies were close, and Jesse wondered why he wasn’t kissing Hanzo yet. With a playful bite to Hanzo’s lower lip before capturing his mouth in a kiss, Jesse remedied the situation. He could hear the moans he was swallowing up rattle their way from Hanzo’s throat and over his tongue as he thrust his fingers deeper inside of the man’s writhing body.

“That good, darlin’?” Jesse asked huskily and breathlessly when he pulled away. Hanzo didn’t respond, only gritted his teeth and dragged Jesse back hungrily, working their mouths together with a bruising force. The kiss quickly became one that was more scraping teeth and tangling tongues than lips, possessive and fierce down to its core. Soon they had to break away once more, and this time Hanzo pressed a hand flat against Jesse’s chest, his own chest heaving. The sound of their labored pants followed, a comfortable near-silence that was only shattered when Jesse finally spoke.

“God, I can’t wait to get inside you.” Jesse almost slurred, the syllables falling from his tongue like smoke as he tugged his boxers off. Hanzo couldn’t help but stare at the sight of the man’s cock standing stiffly between his thighs. It was long and curved ever so slightly to the left, with heavy vein along the underside that Hanzo wanted to run his tongue along. When he raised his eyes he saw Jesse smirking at him, a bit of pride written across his features. He wasn’t much bigger than Hanzo, who merely narrowed his eyes and took ahold of him, fingers squeezing beneath the head. Jesse gave a jerk and moaned out, licking over his lips when Hanzo started to stroke him. The pressure had Jesse biting his lip back.

“Wait too long and I may lose interest, cowboy.” Hanzo warned, his hand smoothing along his length before moving down to cup his sack. Hanzo’s eyes were dark and intense, reeling Jesse in he took a tattooed thigh in one hand, the other seizing his cock and rubbing the dripping head of his cock along the cleft of his ass. He pressed it teasingly against his hole, prodding just enough to make Hanzo’s breath catch audibly in his throat. Jesse heard the man growl in frustration, thrusting his hips back defiantly.

“I’ll just have to keep you interested, then.” He muttered, watching Hanzo’s eyes cut up to him sharply. At that moment he chose to press inside, watching the way Hanzo’s eyes lost focus for just a moment, his head falling back against the pillows. Jesse held his legs apart, fingers digging into the flesh of his thighs as he slid deeper. It was a tight fit, though Hanzo’s body offered little in the way of any real resistance. The man’s face showed only a faint hint of discomfort, and so Jesse didn’t feel as guilty when he bottomed out, cock buried inside the tight heat of him. He did stop, however, if only to be polite before he started railing away.

Hanzo cocked an eyebrow at him and pressed back against Jesse’s cock. “I thought you were trying to keep me interested.” He bit out.

Jesse was caught a bit off guard, but quickly gathered himself. With a grin he grinded his hips slowly against Hanzo’s ass, watching the way the man’s fingers curled into the sheets beside him. “What’d you want, again?” He teased, letting Hanzo’s thighs slide from his grip as he settled on leaning in until his chest was brushing against the other man’s. He tilted his head up, staring down at Hanzo like he was issuing a challenge. “I can’t seem to remember exactly what it was.” He added, grasping Hanzo’s chin in his hand.

Hanzo was inclined to snort derisively and turn away, but the feeling of being filled and not fucked was maddening. He could feel himself edging on desperate, especially when he felt the weight of the man above him pinning him to the mattress. He closed his eyes, breathing out slowly if only to collect himself. He didn’t dignify Jesse’s teasing with a response, however, instead wrapping his arms around the man’s neck and pulling him in for a kiss.

Jesse’s bluff couldn’t hold up to that as he kissed back with a fury, hips pulling back before slamming back in. He smiled into Hanzo’s lips when he heard the moans his thrusts forced out, and soon he picked up a rhythm. It had Hanzo sinking into the mattress with every thrust, his legs wrapping around Jesse’s hips as his body fucked back against him, wanting to feel him completely.

“Ah – Darlin’, you’re good.” Jesse praised, mouth falling open as he tucked his arms beneath Hanzo’s, bracing himself against the mattress with his elbows and using it as leverage to slide himself in deep. Hanzo was all but writhing beneath him, each well-aimed thrust sinking into him  _ hard _ and dragging out so perfectly he could barely form a coherent thought.

Hanzo growled something out, something slurred and in Japanese that Jesse didn’t understand but decided to take as encouragement, anyway. Hanzo’s body bounced with every stroke of Jesse’s cock, looking for all the world like a mess as he tore at the sheets. A few times a strand of dark hair fell over his face, tempting Jesse to brush it away. He leaned back to do it once, taking ahold of Hanzo’s thigh with one hand, as his other hand cupped the man’s jaw. 

He nearly lost it right then when Hanzo’s tongue circled around his thumb, sucking it into his mouth greedily.

“You’re gonna kill me.” Jesse muttered, mouthing along the inside of the leg he had clutched in his hand. He traced back over the marks, sinking his teeth in particularly deep and watching Hanzo’s back arch beautifully off the mattress as he cried out. Jesse’s eyes went wide at the sight and sound of it, and he punctuated the act with a hard jolt of his hips, hearing the pleasing smack of skin fill the room as he fucked him harder than ever.

Talking came naturally to Jesse as he watched Hanzo writhe underneath him, watching his cock disappear inside of the man over and over. The way it stretched him wide and the way Hanzo’s skin glistened with sweat was enough to make him lose track of his tongue, mouth firing off dirty nothings that seemed to make Hanzo’s eyes roll back in his head.

He was in the midst of it when he heard something vibrating harshly against a tabletop. They both turned quickly to the bedside table, bodies losing rhythm momentarily but never really stopping as they moved together.

It was his communicator, buzzing against the table wildly.

Jesse could’ve broken something. He didn’t want reality right now, or at least not any reality that was happening outside of this hotel room. He preferred it in the form of the man beneath him, who was gorgeous and complicated and entirely too much for him, but Jesse would be damned if he wasn’t head over heels for just that reason.

“Not the god damn time, Jack.” Jesse grunted bitterly, turning back to Hanzo. He snatched it from the bedside table, seeing the name of their commander glowing brightly before tossing it to the side. It toppled over the side of the bed and fell onto the carpet, still buzzing but forgotten as Jesse grabbed Hanzo’s waist and dragged him back against him with renewed vigor.

Hanzo bit his lip, fingers dragging across Jesse’s back as he stared up at the ceiling with unfocused eyes. He could feel himself getting close, especially when Jesse started mouthing beneath his jaw hotly, sucking marks along his neck as he pushed deeper. Angry red marks appeared in the wake of Hanzo’s fingernails, and he could feel similar marks burning along his hips. It was a good, rough fuck, Hanzo’s body sinking into the mattress with every deep thrust. 

He could heard the communicator still buzzing faintly, but Hanzo found himself only more aroused by the way Jesse seemed to focus only on him, his stare like fire that burned across his front. He held him tight, cock pounding inside of him just right, like Jesse was intent on dragging every last pleasured sound from Hanzo that he could manage. It was so much all at once, and when Hanzo finally came it was over Jesse’s hand, stroking him in time with his thrusts. He fell back against the pillows limply, feeling his body clench up around Jesse, who bit out a groan before burying his head in the crook of Hanzo’s neck.

The wild creaking of the bed stopped as the man came deep inside him, and Hanzo felt an arm, warm and rough, curl around his waist as a heavy frame flopped down on top of him. They were still for a long moment, minds spinning as the whirlwind came to a stop and faded to a gentle buzz of an afterglow. Through the haze of it Hanzo felt the pad of a thumb stroking against his skin, as warm and constant as a white noise and twice as comforting. When Jesse pulled back to kiss him it was lazy and slow, a sloppy meshing of mouths that left his lips wet when Jesse let his body relax once more, face buried in Hanzo’s hair that was strewn across the pillow. It still smelled a bit like a river, with the faintest hint of shampoo. He didn’t mind it at all.

In the quiet that followed, the communicator started buzzing again. Jesse inhaled long and deep, lifting his head just an inch to let out a groan. He reached up to brush the strands of black hair that stuck to his face away, rolling off to the side.

He seemed to be pointedly ignoring the device, instead pushing himself up off of the bed and kicking it across the room, before making his way to the bathroom.

Hanzo laid on the bed, his mind still a little buzzed as he watched Jesse’s retreating back. He couldn’t help but snort slightly, though he didn’t know what he was amused by.

Jesse emerged from the bathroom with a towel, shutting the door behind him. He bent down, swiping his jeans off the floor and fishing a half-smoked cigar from his pocket. He looked up with the cigar clenched between his teeth, lit lighter in his hands as he noticed the faintest look of amusement on Hanzo’s face. “What?” He asked, throwing the towel around his neck and not seeming shy at all as he strutted back to the bed, stark naked. There truly was no  _ reason  _ to be, but the man’s unapologetic nature was certainly refreshing.

Hanzo didn’t respond, simply taking the towel when it was offered to him. He heard the faint crackle when Jesse inhaled from his cigar, and when he looked up he noticed the way it glowed warmly in contrast to the silvery light that filtered through the curtains. He didn’t stare for long, instead glancing over the communicator that sat purposefully forgotten in the far corner of the room.

“You’re going to get yourself into more trouble.” Hanzo said, not seeming like he particularly cared when Jesse crawled over him, tilting Hanzo’s chin up and pulling him in for a kiss.

“Don’t care.” Jesse murmured, smiling against Hanzo’s lips and kissing him again. Hanzo reciprocated it for a moment, letting it drag on as they slowly got more and more heated, Jesse situating himself between Hanzo’s legs. “I need a minute if you want to go again.” He gave Hanzo’s thigh a light smack, drawing back and watching the other man relax back against the pillows.

Hanzo gave a deep sigh, still looking at Jesse with an unreadable expression on his face as he pushed himself up from the bed. Jesse claimed his spot in the middle of the pillows, taking a deep drag from the cigar clutched between his metal fingers, his other hand tucked behind his head. His eyes were glued on the back of the man as he made his way across the room, Jesse letting out an appreciative hum alongside the puffs of smoke. He had a better view of the tattoo on Hanzo’s leg now, the dragon encircling the limb in an array of dark, muted tones. It was gorgeous, and he wondered if his developing obsession with it was some tattoo fetish thing, or a Hanzo Shimada thing.

He ashed his cigar into the tray on the bedside table, pondering the question. 

“Call Morrison.” Hanzo said firmly, swiping the communicator off of the floor. He came back to the bed, setting it down against Jesse’s bare chest, before turning and going through the clothes on the floor. Jesse furrowed his brow, too focused on the man’s words to care about what he was doing.

“And say what, exactly? ‘Apologies, Jack. I was doin’ somethin’ a hell of a lot prettier than you’.” Jesse came comically, cocking an eyebrow at Hanzo. The other man simply stared at him, turning on his heel and going into the bathroom.

“You said you needed a minute. It should take only a minute.” Hanzo came simply, glancing back in Jesse’s direction. He saw the man purse his lips as if considering Hanzo’s words, the unspoken part of it seeming to be of most interest to him. Jesse cast him another look, mouth open as if he were going to say something, before opting for silence. He nodded his head in acceptance, swiping the communicator off his chest and sending the request.

There was an uncomfortable moment of watching the communicator pulse as the call pended, before finally lighting up. He heard a bit of static from the other side that he assumed was a sigh. It was followed by a considerable silence that only managed to unnerve Jesse further.

He swallowed.

“Jack?” Jesse tried, stubbing out his cigar against his metal arm, before flicking it into the ash tray.   

More silence.

“Jack.” He came again, more sternly this time.

“Jesse, I don’t know what sort of goddamn mid-life crisis you’re having right now, but you’re a half-inch shy of a temporary suspension.” Jack growled, his voice raked with static as it came through the communicator. Jesse had to hold it further away from his face, eyebrows high in surprise after the sudden verbal assault.

“Evenin’ to you, commander.” Jesse came smoothly, calmly, staring forlornly at his cigar stub and wishing it would suddenly reappear, whole and freshly-lit between his fingers.

There was another silence, and Jesse looked to the side to see Hanzo walking out of the bathroom. His hair looked like it had been hastily finger-combed, and in the dim light he could make out his own belt held in Hanzo’s hand. Jesse’s eyes moved from the belt to Hanzo’s face, and the man only smirked at him as he came toward the bed slowly.

Jack said something, something Jesse didn’t hear because he was far too interested in the way Hanzo crawled over him, as silent as a ghost and not even letting the bed creak once beneath his weight. When Hanzo took the communicator from Jesse’s hand, Jesse simply let him take it, eyes following as it was placed on his chest.

“W-what was that, Jack? I didn’t—“ Jesse stammered out, mind racing a hundred miles south as he felt his arms being pinned above his head, and his wrists bound together by his belt. “I didn’t catch that.” He said, flushing down to his chest as he gulped hard. He could already feel the heat stirring in his stomach, his cock starting to take interest as Hanzo looped the belt around a section of the headboard.

When Hanzo was satisfied with the way Jesse had been bound he moved back, admiring the sight of it before scooting down to lay between the man’s legs.

“I said, explain it.” Jack came harshly, louder this time. “I need to know why you made an appearance on British national news this morning, and why I’m watching an internet video some punk uploaded of an exploded Overwatch vehicle, and you and Agent Shimada crawling out of the damn Thames."

Jesse tried to gather his words, a task which was difficult with Hanzo mouthing at his half-hard cock. Before he could do so, Jack spoke again.

“—And why you and Agent Shimada haven’t returned to base, yet.” Jack added.

One look down at  _ Agent Shimada  _ had Jesse sucking back a breath to try and keep his voice level, as the man took him in his hand, stroking him slowly and letting the tip of it sink past his lips. The feeling of warm and wet sliding down his cock was enough to make him bite back a groan, pulling against the belt as he tried in vain to stifle it with his hand.    

“The bombs that Talon used during the first mission, Jack. They weren’t activated by tripwire or motion-sensing or any of that.” Jesse managed get out, head falling back against the pillows. “Hanzo and I are both marksmen—we would’ve seen a detonator, and our target didn’t have one on him.”

“How do you know there would even  _ be _ a detonator?” Jack asked instantly, skeptically but in a way that sounded like he wanted to believe Jesse.

“I found some exploded pieces in the wreckage. I recognized the serial number, for the most part, and those were LR-650s, or some newer version of ‘em. The explosion today was the fault of a spiderbomb shot through the back window—” Jesse stopped to suck back his lower lip when Hanzo took him deeper, hand smoothing up his stomach and through the trail of hair that was dusted there. Jesse glanced down at the man, watching the way his eyes were focused on Jesse’s, glinting in the dark at him.

As far as he could tell, it was Hanzo’s goal to torture him the way he was, and Jesse wouldn’t back down from the challenge. He gave a shallow thrust of his hips before tilting his head back towards the communicator. “I traded illegal weapons with the Deadlocks to people just like Talon, Jack. I know what I’m talking about. There was a sniper.” He finished, forcing out as much confidence as he could manage.

The static that greeted him was at least somewhat reassuring.

“So, what exactly is it you’re saying here, Jesse?” There was a newfound softness in his voice that went hand in hand with exasperation. Jesse could literally see Jack rubbing his temples in frustration, trying to process the information.

“O-oh—“ A groan found its way past Jesse’s lips when he felt nails rake lightly over his hips, followed a hand pressing hard around the base of his cock. Hanzo pulled off of him, a string of saliva trailing from his lips to the head of Jesse’s cock. “—that’s a  _ pretty _ damn sight.” He crooned, eyes lidded.

The look Hanzo shot him and Jack’s sudden “what?” from the other end of his communicator had Jesse’s face lighting up red with embarrassment.

“I-I said, I’m pretty damn sure it was a set-up,” Jesse amended, letting his head loll to the side, so he could bite down on the pillow when he felt Hanzo’s tongue on him once again. He strained against the belt once more, wishing he could toss the damn communicator back into some forgotten corner of the room, and fist his hands in that soft black hair. Hanzo felt so  _ good _ around him, the way his tongue moved, the way his palms skated across the contours of Jesse’s abdomen while he sucked him off. It was criminal to be doing him the way Hanzo was, to be doing  _ this _ while Jesse was on particularly thin ice.

Of course, that only made Jesse want it more.

Jack seemed to be considering the information, Jesse taking this time to thrust into Hanzo’s mouth freely, stifling his moans around a mouthful of pillowcase. When his cock slid from Hanzo’s mouth, the man pulling back and letting his shoulders heave as he quietly caught his breath, Hanzo crawled beside Jesse, capturing his lips.

Jesse tried not to moan into Hanzo’s mouth when he tasted himself on the other man’s tongue, and doing so was a feat all its own. Hanzo took him in his hand, jerking Jesse’s cock in slow, languid strokes. When pulled back from the kiss, Jesse lifted off the bed to try and chase his lips only to once more tug in vain against the belt.

At the same moment that Jack’s voice came again, Hanzo picked up the pace. Jesse’s groan in response was quickly muffled when Hanzo brought a hand over his mouth, quieting him.

“It might be her.” Jack said grimly, “Amélie. This would be her area of expertise. . .in more ways than one.”

Hanzo lifted his hand momentarily for Jesse to respond, but before Jesse could even come up with some sort of response, Jack spoke again.

“You—“ Jack stopped, like he was struggling to find the right words. “—If this is true, then you’ve done good work, Jesse. I don’t have much of a say in what you do from here on out, do I?”

Jesse gave a genuine snort at that, letting out a breath of combined relief and disappointment when Hanzo’s hands left him. Inhaling deeply through his nose, he managed to gather his wits for long enough to muster up a bit of genuine seriousness.

If he owed the commander anything, it was the truth.

“I’m goin’ to do my job, Jack.” Jesse assured him.

It was Jack’s turn to snort at  _ that _ .

“In your own way, I guess. Just. . .don’t get killed. And if this is bullshit, I’m gonna light your ass up.” His words had that familiar note of fondness, all wrapped up in the harsh, rocky grate of his voice. There was a light chuckle that tapered off into a sigh. “Don’t be reckless. If you’re actually onto something, if this is really Lacroix—“

“—Then it ain’t gonna be no summer stroll.” Jesse finished.  

There was a huff from the other end of the line. “Get some sleep. You  _ and  _ Agent Shimada.” Jack came gruffly, followed by the static hiss of the call ending.

Jesse shuddered immediately when Hanzo moved the communicator back to the bedside table. He gave a glance to the man, who quickly returned to straddling his thighs. He wished he could’ve given Morrison’s words a second thought, but that was the last thing on his mind when he looked at Hanzo with a look of blown-out enjoyment.

“You—“ Jesse was broken off by his own moan when he felt slicked fingers wrapping around his length, “—are no shrinking violet, are you?” He managed out, incredulous and pulling against the belt to accentuate his point. He was a little breathless by the time Hanzo looked up at him with his eyebrow cocked, Jesse thrusting into his hand. “I mean, I never thought you were, you always seemed like a goddamn spitfire, even with all the icy glares—“

Hanzo silenced him with one of said glares, but this one was  _ molten _ ¸ making Jesse nearly melt back against the mattress with shallow breaths rolling over his tongue. When Hanzo was close enough to feel the warmth of those breaths ghosting over his face, he stopped. An inch shy of Jesse’s face, Hanzo’s eyes were narrow and inviting, as were his lips.

Jesse was  _ dying  _ to kiss them.

“Tell me,” Hanzo’s voice was like bourbon that scorched a trail over Jesse’s tongue and down his throat, pooling in his stomach intoxicating and hot. Jesse sucked in a breath when a hand jerked his chin up. “—do you like to be ridden,  _ cowboy _ ?” Hanzo finished huskily, the sound of it making gooseflesh appear all over as an excited shudder rattled its way down to Jesse’s bones.

Jesse could barely formulate a response when he felt himself rubbing between Hanzo’s palm and the curve of his ass. Truth was, it didn’t matter if Jesse  _ liked  _ it. Hanzo could’ve tied him up and done just about anything, and Jesse would be into it.

And he wasn’t about to argue with the idea of getting ridden by someone as gorgeous as the man on top of him.

Tongue like cotton, he stared at Hanzo open-mouthed, trying for all the world not to look half as desperate as he felt, if only for his pride.

“Please, darlin’.” He breathed out, his voice a gravelly whisper.

He felt Hanzo sink down on top of him, wet and warm and tighter than anything, and Jesse could’ve lost it right there.

There was a low curse from Hanzo as he seated himself fully, hands roaming all over Jesse’s chest until they finally took ahold of his shoulders. He was already mostly relaxed from their first session—Jesse had done a good enough job railing him into the mattress—but Jesse was well-endowed and he guessed (and hoped) it had been some time since Hanzo had done this.

If it was even half as long as it had been for Jesse, it had been  _ too  _ long.

Jesse looked up at Hanzo, the way he lifted up, the way the muscles in his arms flexed when he did so and the way his eyes lit up when he fell back down, Jesse’s cock sliding in deep. The dark hair falling over darker eyes that were focused on  _ him _ , of all people—

In the faint moonlight that filtered in through the curtained window, or perhaps from the equally blueish light that flooded into the dark room from the bathroom, he caught the faintest touch of grey in Hanzo’s hair, right at his temples. His heart pulled tight in his chest, like someone was plucking at his strings like an instrument.

He thought about all the times it had  _ almost  _ been someone else in Hanzo’s place, all the times a few drinks and his own damnably flirty mouth had almost pulled someone in, before he realized he didn’t want a thing to do with them, not like that.

“Jesse—“ The name rolled off Hanzo’s tongue, and just like that Jesse was groaning too, his face flushed with a fire that smoldered just beneath his skin.

Jesse had been waiting for someone who was  _ worth  _ it, and here they were, burning hot against his front.

“You’re gorgeous.” The words were coming out of Jesse’s mouth before he could even stop them, trickling unfiltered from his brain to his tongue and spilling over without a second thought. “You’re so damn  _ good _ —“ He drawled out, head falling back with a groan as his back arched when Hanzo slid against him just right.

Hanzo leaned back, almost as if purposefully baring himself to Jesse’s eyes. His hands reached behind him, resting on Jesse’s thighs as he rolled his hips down harder and harder over the man. Jesse thrusted upwards, enjoying the fleshy smack that resulted each time Hanzo bounced back down over his cock.

When Hanzo sucked back his lip, Jesse couldn’t help but groan at the sight of it.

“Oh darlin’, let me kiss you.” Jesse furrowed his eyebrows and all but begged, voice all raw pleasure and edging on desperate from the feeling of orgasm coiling in his gut. Hanzo was quick to comply even in his state, caught up and lost in the feeling of being filled like he was.

It was automatic, the way he pressed himself flush against Jesse’s chest, smothering him, mouths knocking together as they tried to catch each other’s lips. It was difficult, with the sounds they were both making and their labored breaths. When they finally made it work it was electrifying, Jesse lost in the slide of Hanzo’s tongue and the pull of his body around his cock.

He didn’t even feel it at first, when the belt around his wrists loosened. It was a freedom he didn’t register until he’d already taken advantage of it, hands on Hanzo’s hips and dragging him up and back down again, hips moving just as much to make sure he was giving it as good as he was getting.

Jesse suspected he was doing just that, with the way Hanzo was shaking in his arms, moaning out his orgasm in the crook of Jesse’s neck. He wasn’t far behind this time, either, and he felt the urge to flip them once more, pressing Hanzo front-down onto the mattress and taking him like that until he finished. He didn’t have a chance to do that, though.

A firm hand pressed him back down against the pillows, holding him there. Jesse’s eyes followed the curve of the tattooed dragon up the strong, muscled arm that could only belong to an archer, up to his chest and then further to his face. His eyes were focused, lips parted and Jesse didn’t know how someone could muster up a look so intense in the wake of an orgasm, but Hanzo  _ did. _

They never broke eye contact as Hanzo ground on top of him, hips rocking until Jesse was coming just like that, deep inside of the man and harder than he thought he ever had. Hanzo’s fingers curled against his skin, nails raking red marks as they bit into it. Every muscle in Jesse’s body was pulled taut until finally loosening, Jesse relaxing back against the pillows, feeling the steady breathing of the man atop him.

For a long while it stayed like that, Hanzo’s eyes finally slipping down, focusing on nothing in particular as his shoulders heaved.

Hanzo moved off of him, falling beside Jesse so both of them were staring up at the ceiling, up at nothing. In the time it took for breathing to slow down, for chests to return to a gentle rise and fall as their minds kept spinning, Jesse searched for the words to say.

He was a mess, Hanzo was a mess, all tousled hair and smelling like sex, and he couldn’t think of a single damn thing to say. Jesse thought back to cool glasses of iced tea in the summer and smoke curling up into the sky at sunset, and added this to the list of  _ quiet _ that he loved.

Jesse took note of the way Hanzo wasn’t looking at him.

Slowly, he moved an arm around Hanzo’s shoulders, watching as the man looked up at him with confusion, and then resignation. He curled into Jesse’s chest, one arm slung lazily across his waist as their bodies pressed together. After what felt like an eternity of listening to the other man’s breathing, Jesse had the sense to tug the covers up and over them.

He was on the brink of falling asleep stroking the touch of grey at Hanzo’s temples, when the man spoke.

“Jesse,” Hanzo started, unmoving in the man’s arms. Jesse wondered briefly if he could feel the way his heart seemed to jump at the way his name sounded on Hanzo’s lips, muttered against his skin. “What you said today, it was foolish.”

Fingers stilling, Jesse hummed against Hanzo’s brow. “It probably was, but I don’t regret it.” He admitted.

He could feel Hanzo’s brow knit.

“You will. When people learn of Talon, there will be those who are afraid, and those who are not. Ultimately, they will choose a side.” The man came gravely. “. . .and people are not as innocent as you make them out to be.”

Jesse mulled over the words for a long time, breathing out a heavy sigh.

“The world’s gonna unfold the way it will, and we can’t stop that. We just—“ He paused, trying to gather his words together in the tired haze that hung over him. “We just have to decide how we’re goin’ to unfold along with it.”

Hanzo didn’t open his eyes, merely blowing his breath out through his nose and pulling Jesse closer.

“Then. . .I suppose we shall see.” He murmured.

“I reckon so.” Jesse responded quietly.

.

.

.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please comment and kudos if you enjoyed!!
> 
> Edit: also just to spare some confusion, Lena says they 'grew up with Jesse', which isn't to say they did as children, but canonically they were together for very formative years of their lives, especially Fareeha and Angela, who literally were all teenagers when 17 year old McCree joined Blackwatch. 
> 
> Idk if anyone was even confused about that but I wanted to clarify that.


	4. The Assassin and the Vigilante

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashbacks to the lives of Jesse McCree and Hanzo Shimada in the time after the dissolution of Overwatch to before the recall.
> 
> People are often more connected than they know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [wheezing] I managed another chapter you guys... sorry for the wait, school started up, things got hectic once again. Thank you for all your kind messages.
> 
> Also special mention to @goingloco and the wonderful art they drew for the previous chapter! Seriously, this made my entire life just about. You can check it out here: http://goingloco.tumblr.com/post/148948261779/they-share-a-this-isnt-good-moment-after

Hanzo hadn’t been keen on coming to America for the first time. It was overwhelming, the atmosphere too boisterous and consuming. Big cities had never been to his liking, and unfortunately most of his work drew him right into their hearts. Hanzo wouldn’t lie, however—the fast pace of the cities, the ruthless environment and the ferocity with which they pulsed and thrived; it was almost poetic. In the midst of a chaos that thrummed like a heartbeat, a single fluid movement of fingers on a bowstring would snuff it out. Then in busied streets and throngs of people, one could be lost as quickly as vivid dream. It was the perfect place for a kill.

This job was nothing like that.

It wasn’t like any of the ones he’d received before. It was a hit, like all the others, but that was where the similarities stopped. He recalled standing on some barren rooftop in Barcelona, watching the sun dip down below the water.

He’d only recently completed his most recent job, when a connection request came to his private line. Warily, he stared at the device, accepting it and opening up a channel between him and whoever it was contacting him. There was a sound of crackling static, a silence that hung in the air as Hanzo waited.

When the silence was shattered, it was by the rough, baritone voice of a man.

“You’re looking for a job, aren’t you?” The words were said confidently, with almost an air of arrogance hidden beneath the gruffly direct way he spoke.

“Identify yourself.” Hanzo responded simply, moving to the edge of the rooftop. He glanced over, watching the way cars and people meandered in and out of the city’s outskirts. The other end of the call was quiet for a short while, Hanzo’s eyes narrowing as he turned away, once again facing the ocean. He could smell the cool brine of the breeze that cast off of the waves, carding through his hair in a moment of tranquility that he didn’t linger on.

“Barcelona is pleasant this time of year, don’t you think?” The man said, the subtle threat of his words not eluding Hanzo. Even if this  _ whoever  _ they were was tracking him, he would not be intimidated.

Hanzo took note of the blood of the over-confident bodyguard for his last hit beneath his fingernails. “Your fear tactics will not work on me.” He responded curtly. Quickly, he made his way to the opposite side of the rooftop, looking down to the deserted alleyway below. In a display of nimbleness he descended the side of the building, dropping down and grunting as he landed on his feet. “You want a job done? Convince me, and do not attempt to play games.”

There was a quiet hum from the other side. It sounded pleased, tapering off into a low chuckle.

Hanzo was about to hang up, when he received notification that a sum of money had just been transferred into his account. He didn’t need to check to know it would be more than sufficient, but there was still a deal of reluctance he couldn’t shake.

“Convinced?” The voice asked.

Hanzo cocked an eyebrow, mulling over his thoughts before giving a huff. “Speak quickly.” He came finally, hearing the satisfied click of a tongue in response.

A few days later, and Hanzo was half-way to Las Vegas, boarded on a hypertrain that was barreling across the continent. It was a bit lavish for his liking, but he’d dressed for the occasion, donning a stiff-collared black dress shirt tucked into pleated grey pants. A finger came up to loosen the silken navy tie around his neck, as he brought a glass of bourbon to his lips. Whoever this was, this employer—no,  _ associate _ , the man had insisted—they were certainly going to lengths to impress Hanzo, going so far as to book him a ticket for a private cabin aboard the hypertrain. 

His eyes flicked to the door, narrowing as he felt the stark discomfort of  _ vulnerability _ . It was like nakedness, being without his bow at arm’s reach, knowing it was tucked away in his luggage—something which was, in and of itself, a miracle. He remembered the lie on the tip of his tongue as the instrument case containing his storm bow was scanned, and the unflinching face of the woman overlooking the process. Her expression was stone-cold as she stared at the screen, and then wordlessly ushered him through.

”So you play the bass?” The woman had said, a certain gleam in her eyes and the slight curve of a smile now on her lips. It wasn’t malicious, but secretive, the both of them sharing knowledge that everyone else around was entirely oblivious to. Hanzo wondered if she, too, was connected to his associate.

“Yes.” He had answered cautiously but unwaveringly, looking back at her and deciding that she most definitely was. He was certain of that much, but it only left him with an even bigger question of what this was he was getting himself into.

Now he kicked his feet up onto the opposite seat, looking to the large ovular window to his side. Sweeping the soft curtain back with a knuckle, he looked outside. The land was strange, fractured with bits of foliage trying to claw their way out from the cracks, or further out blanketed in rolling dunes of sand. A while back they had passed the Deadlock Gorge, now an empty chasm filled to the brim with dusty motels and other roadside attractions, a testament to something long gone. They were still running parallel to Route 66, the cracked highway sometimes disappearing and reappearing with the landscape.

On the train intercoms they had even mentioned the Deadlock Gorge as being notorious for gang activity, which had come to an end years before when Overwatch stepped in to intervene. It sounded so casually confident, as if the Deadlocks were a threat that had already been snuffed out. Hanzo had simply pursed his lips, knowing better.

He brought out his holoscreen, once again opening the dossier that his associate had sent to him. On flickering blue screen, the ragged, aged face of a man stared back at him. His single eye was squinted threateningly, a cigarette between his lips and his left eye patched up. That side of his face was scarred up, with one particularly large, gnarly-looking gash running from his chin to the very peak of the hairline. There was a handicap listed, three missing fingers on his dominant hand.  His name was Deadeye, with no other name listed according to the file. The old man was one of the Deadlock top dogs, wanted by just about everyone on this side of the globe for crimes both national and international.

According to his information, Deadeye and the others who escaped Overwatch’s raid on Deadlock Gorge had relocated somewhere in the eastern Mojave.

Hanzo’s job was simple enough—find, kill.

A voice sounded over the intercom, signaling their next stop. Hanzo flicked his holoscreen off, shoving it into the pocket of his trousers and then reaching for his half-finished glass of bourbon. He took one last sip, letting the taste roll over his tongue as the train came to a halt in the station.

Hanzo found his way to Route 66 on a rented motorbike that glided smoothly along the dusty highway. He took it a ways, for long enough to see the sky as it was beginning to stretch out dark above him. By sundown, he was following the bike’s navigation off the highway to the coordinates he’d been provided with.

He came to a stop, staring out at a small compound in the middle of the desert. It was nestled against the craggy face of a desert cliff, half-built into the stone. Looking down at the screen, he saw the destination ahead marked with a glowing beacon, and inhaled deeply through his nose.

Finding a rocky niche where he could stash away the bike, Hanzo lingered a ways away as he waited for night to fall. He ditched the case and the tie, rolling back his sleeves and fitting his archery glove snugly in place. By the time stars were starting to appear overhead, he had slung his bow over his shoulder and was making his way to the compound.

It was simple enough to slip past the first gate undetected—there was no one guarding the entrances, perhaps because if whatever was left of the Deadlock Gang had holed themselves up here, they probably wanted it to seem  _ abandoned _ . It was simple self-preservation. Even if they seemed like a bunch of punks and ruffians, the Deadlocks were more than that. You didn’t get yourself a visit from a United Nations task force unless you were just smart and dangerous enough to earn it.

Hanzo ducked beneath a window as he padded along, an arrow already notched into his bow, ready to sink it between the eyes of the first person who gave him a reason to do so. His associate had already given him the okay on necessary collateral damage, but Hanzo had the impression that whoever this was wanted the job done cleanly, economically. 

Hanzo stopped outside a door. There was the sound of music playing on the inside, some cacophonous racket that hardly qualified as music. Hanzo furrowed his brow in distaste, as he pushed the door open. He entered the room, bowstring pulled taut and aimed directly ahead at nothing. It was empty, and so Hanzo lowered his bow and continued on.

Up a set of stairs and down the hallway, Hanzo could hear an uproar of drunken laughter, followed by something that sounded like a game of pool. He made his way up, stopping briefly outside the door and peering in.

“’Ey, Maria,” One voice started drunkenly, words slurring together more from the alcohol than the thick Texan accent. “Why don’tcha come sit in my lap, sugar?” A bit of laughter bubbled up once more, as well as a derisive snort that Hanzo could only assume was from Maria.

“How about you shut it? Or better yet, come beat me at pool.” The girl said, flipping her braid over her shoulder as she leaned down with her stick to aim the next shot. “Maybe I’ll let you lick my boot if you win.” She snickered, positioning the stick between her fingers then jamming it forward. Hanzo could hear the clacking of the cue ball against the others, as well as the satisfying sound of several of them falling into the pockets. 

He drew back instantly, pushing himself flush against the wall as the woman closest to him pushed herself up from a ragged recliner, boots clicking across the creaking wooden floors as she walked over to the pool table. He glanced again, waiting for the right opportunity to sneak by.

“You’re just still hot for Quickshot after all these years, aren’t ya?” The woman said, coming up and snatching the stick from the other’s hands. “Too bad he didn’t give a damn about you or any other lady who sauntered her pretty ass past ‘im. Besides—” The woman paused, shrugging off her leather jacket and tossing it back onto her chair. Beneath her choppy dyed hair, Hanzo could see the Deadlock insignia tattooed on her back, mostly covered by her tank top. A revolver was tucked in the waist of her pants, Hanzo’s eyes catching on the glint of metal as she leaned down with the stick, lining up her own shot. “He was a goody fuckin’ two-shoed sonnuvabitch. Always was.” She spat, sneering half at her words and half from the fact that in her intoxication, she’d missed the cue ball entirely.

Maria grunted but said nothing, turning her back and leaning down to grab another can of beer from the cooler. Hanzo took the opening, moving further down the hallway.  

He didn’t encounter many other obstacles, the lights growing dimmer the further he progressed into the compound. He passed a few rooms, most with doors closed. Once he heard someone shout and throw something that shattered against a wall, which quickly earned them a loud string of expletives as their neighbor pounded on the wall. Hanzo grimaced, not even attempting to hide his disgust.

“Uncouth.” He muttered beneath his breath, eying the dagger that had been shoved right in the middle of whoever’s face was depicted in the portrait hanging up on the wall.

He decided he may have overestimated his opponents here. There was something strange, that he would be contacted specifically to do something as easy as waltzing into an unprotected compound and giving a washed-up gang leader a bow-and-arrow lobotomy. Despite how trivial the task now seemed, Hanzo never dropped his guard. There were too many questions that had been dragged up by the oddness of the situation to not have suspicion lying heavy in his mouth like a bad taste.

He came to a stop before an open door that sat at the dead end of the compound. A man stood out on the balcony, staring out across the desert with his back turned to the doorway. He brought a glass of something amber-colored to his lips, letting it sit there for a moment before taking a sip.

“You say your informant has turned up nothing.” The man said, his accent American but sounding out of place in their current region. Hanzo noted that he looked slick and refined, with an air that seemed like he was more accustomed to urban sprawl and skyscrapers than barren desert nights. It wasn’t his target, and Hanzo was certain enough of that.

There was a displeased rumble from somewhere in the room that Hanzo couldn’t see, and Hanzo quickly concealed himself behind the open door, peering through the small gap where the door was hinged to the wall. Someone stood to their feet, lumbering footsteps bringing them over to the desk in the middle of the room, where a large monitor was set up.

“It don’t matter, Asa. The boy didn’t know shit, an’ if he did, he wouldn’t’ve just up’n left.” A man’s gruff voice came, as he stepped before the screen. He tapped something on the keyboard, Hanzo watching the light from the monitor play across his features. It was the same man, the deep scar running beneath his eyepatch and the same lopsided scowl and tied back grey hair. He reached past the computer, grabbing the bottle of whatever they were drinking and topping off his glass.

“Consider the evidence—” The man—Asa, Hanzo assumed—began, before he was cut off by the glass bottle thudding down against the table.

“You consider the goddamn evidence, ya puffed-up city pomp.” Deadeye said louder, knocking the glass back and draining about half of it. “I don’t care what the hell happened in Santa Monica or fuckin’ Detroit, it ain’t him.” The old man spat, watching as Asa turned and levelled him with a glare. Deadeye took a few steps forward, jabbing his finger into the man’s chest. Hanzo noticed a few of the digits on his right hand were robotic, metal joints that made a nearly inaudible click as he curled his hand into a fist and dropped them to his side. “The only reason we ain’t ass-deep in Blackwatch right now is because I didn’t tell Quickshot nothin’ ‘bout this.”

Hanzo’s interest was piqued upon hearing the name for the second time. Whoever “Quickshot” was, Hanzo guessed he’d done something to earn himself notoriety among the Deadlocks. From the shadows he continued to watch silently. He was waiting to see if Asa would leave—he fit no descriptions given to him, and was clearly not a part of any gangs. Hanzo would do his job, and nothing more.  

“—Two entire trafficking rings, collapsed. Without a single trace. Dozens of my people, dead.” Asa continued, voice strained as if attempting to remain civil despite everything. “This ‘Quickshot’ is M.I.A., gone underground, and you know for a fact that he wouldn’t have liked this business even before he turned on you. What about now? We’ve got about fifteen throughout the country, and a few more internationally. Do the math—we’ve already lost tens of thousands in profits. ”

Hanzo’s eyebrow twitched at the mention of “trafficking”. The dossier hadn’t included that.

He immediately steeled himself, letting a breath out silently through his nose. He had no right to be surprised, to be disgusted. He knew better than anyone what cards lie in the hands of these people and people like them. He had lived and breathed it for most of his life, had been groomed to be a master of the same game, until the moment it became all too real.

Hanzo silently cursed himself for allowing his mind to linger back to that for the thousandth time, to cold palms and red-streaked steel and a family shrine, defiled. He closed his eyes, forcing the imagery from his mind before he could see it too vividly and then gathering himself.

Mind forcibly blank, Hanzo listened on.

Deadeye made his way out to the balcony, shoving his hand in his pocket as he brushed past Asa.

“Quickshot would bring the whole thing to its knees if he had those coordinates right there. He’s a holier-than-thou, starry-eyed little shit,” Deadeye grumbled, finishing off his drink before setting the cup to his side. He pulled out a cigarette and brought it up to his lips. “But he’s good with that fuckin’ gun, an’ he’s got a mouth that’d charm the Devil out of his favorite fiddle.”

Asa stepped forward as Deadeye patted down his pockets in search of a lighter. He brought his own to the end of Deadeye’s cigarette, lighting it. Deadeye nodded to him in a begrudging thanks, taking a long drag.

“—But ya don’t have to worry, because what you’ve got is a coincidence.” Deadeye finished, smoke filtering from his mouth as he shrugged.

Asa tucked the lighter away in his front pocket, pressing his mouth into a thin line and looking off to the side. “It doesn’t feel that way.” He said quietly, before he stepped over to the table. He placed the stopper back on the bottle of whiskey, looking over his shoulder. “I’ll be off, then. I’ve got to catch a flight in an hour. Keep in touch, and tell me if that informant of yours finds anything out about your man.”

Deadeye watched him go, wordlessly puffing on his cigarette and ashing it carelessly onto the ground. He then turned, leaning against the balcony railing.  

Hanzo waited until the footsteps faded away, and until he heard the sound like a car engine turning over. That was his cue, Hanzo stepping out of his hiding place and padding into the room without so much as an errant creak from the floorboards.

As if by instinct, Deadeye turned around, finding himself staring straight at a man with an arrow notched and aimed directly at his head. He said nothing, taking another drag from his cigarette. Hanzo watched as the hand on the railing twitched ever so slightly toward him. There was no doubt he had a gun of his own tucked in his belt.

“Always thought it’d come to somethin’ like this,” Deadeye started, making a flourish in the air with his cigarette, undoubtedly in an attempt to distract Hanzo as he reached for his weapon. “But goddamn, I must’ve made one helluva name for myself, if they sent someone like you to do it.”

Hanzo pretended to be fooled, letting the man’s hand inch behind his back. At the first glint of metal in the moonlight, Hanzo tipped his bow down just slightly, firing an arrow that pierced the man’s throat. The pistol clattered to the floor, Deadeye clawing at his neck, choking and sputtering violently on his own blood as he dropped to his knees.

Fitting another arrow in place, Hanzo stepped closer, sliding the gun away with his foot right as the dying man fumbled for it. Placing his foot firmly on the man’s chest, he pushed him back, looking down at him with nothing more than a cool, flinty stare.

“You are nothing.” Hanzo hissed with a venom, just loud enough for Deadeye to hear it before having an arrow shot through his skull. The man slumped, left incapacitated and moments from dead as Hanzo turned away from the gruesome sight. With a deep sigh he breathed out, heart pounding in his chest and adrenaline flooding through his systems.

So quickly it had come to an end, and yet it felt far from over.

There was too much he didn’t know.

He turned to face the monitor, sliding behind the desk. He brought his finger to the screen, opening up the latest document and watching the window stretch to fill the screen. It was several strings of numbers all neatly organized in a small column. They were clearly the coordinates for the trafficking rings Deadeye had mentioned.

_ We’ve got about fifteen throughout the country, and a few more internationally _ , Asa’s voice repeated in his mind.

Hanzo scanned the column. Fifteen sets of coordinates, a space, and six more.    

_ Quickshot would bring the whole thing to its knees _ , his mind supplied.

His gaze rest on the screen for a long while. It wasn’t his business, wasn’t his  _ job _ . His associate had wanted “clean”, and Hanzo didn’t know if he could categorize the information he currently held in his hands and file it under “clean”.

It seemed more like “massive”, “international”, and “game-changing.”

He was more or less comfortable with the significant effects of some of the jobs he took, but what he wasn’t comfortable with was the fact that this was starting to become “personal”. It struck too close to home, in places he did not venture or look back on if he wanted to retain his sanity.

Hanzo’s jaw tightened, his pulse quickening as his fingers moved to the keyboard. No, he wasn’t ready to handle anything on this scale, but he could do  _ something _ , if only to put his thoughts to rest.

In the end, his reasons were entirely selfish.

Making a space beneath the last row of coordinates, Hanzo typed out a brief message. He then signed it with his alias, watching as the computer’s translation setting replaced it with proper kanji. After a brief spell of indecision, he decided against signing it and backspaced until only that single line of his message remained.

_ do what you will. _

Taking the drive from his holoscreen, he inserted it into the computer and saved the updated document to it. When the transfer was done he pulled the drive out and tucked it into his pocket, before deleting the file from the main computer.

For a moment, Hanzo felt foolish. He had no way to find this “Quickshot”, and no intention of delving deeply in order to do so. His fingers lingered over the drive for a second longer as he furrowed his brows, shoving it from his mind as he slung his bow across his chest.

Making his way over to the corpse, he lingered over the ugly face of the man as he knelt and pulled his arrows free, placing them back into his quiver to be cleaned later.

The sudden feeling of eyes on him had his head snapping up.

In the doorway stood a large figure—male, he assumed, but almost entirely shrouded in shadow. He couldn’t make out a single detail on his face, and he seemed to be hooded. Bow back in his hand in an instant, Hanzo’s fingers brushed the end of an arrow in his quiver. Something made him pause, when the mysterious figure’s hand emerged from the shadow, bringing something with it and letting it thud heavily to the ground.

The corpse of a woman fell into the silvery light that came from the balcony and pooled at Hanzo’s feet. Strands of dark hair fell around her face, and just beneath the collar of her leather jacket, he could see that her neck had been broken.

“The bodyguard went to take a smoke.” A voice came, rough and baritone. “Thought I’d make sure she didn’t interrupt anything.”

Hanzo’s hand lowered from his quiver cautiously, eyes glued to the figure as his turned his head to Deadeye’s corpse. He was slouched in a heap, front streaked with his own blood and very, very dead. The man let out an appreciative hum. “Not that you needed my help.”

“Who are you?” Hanzo asked, despite the unavoidable feeling in his gut that told him he already knew.

“Your associate.” The answer came as no surprise.

With confirmation came a sudden flash of indignance as Hanzo raised his bow, arrow notched and string pulled back in the blink of an eye. “I said before that I will not be toyed with.” Hanzo growled, words hissed between his teeth.

“That’s what you think this is.” The man murmured, more a statement than a question. He snorted lightly in amusement.

Hanzo considered shooting an arrow into the doorway beside the man’s face, before deciding against it. He glanced over to Deadeye’s corpse once more, before flicking his eyes back to the man before him. “Surely I do not have to convince you that I could end your life in a heartbeat.” Hanzo retorted dryly.

There was the same light chuckle that he had heard before, as the figure crossed his arms over his chest.

“No, you don’t have to convince me of anything. Not anymore, at least.” He came, satisfaction clear in his tone.

“What are you talking about?” The string of Hanzo’s bow gradually went slack, confusion evident on his features.

“This isn’t a game. It’s an offer.” The man admitted. In the shadows, the body shifted to lean against the doorframe. 

Hanzo gritted his teeth. “Who are you?” He demanded, patience beginning to wear thin. He lowered his bow to his side, placing the arrow back into his quiver.

“Work for me.” The man said.

“Who are you?” Hanzo repeated, this time stressing each syllable.

There was a long silence between them, the man giving resigned sigh.

“Someone who does the dirty work.” He finally said. “We specialize in the things boy scouts want to pretend aren’t necessary.” He stopped, chuckling again to himself. The sound of it was hollow, bitter. “—while they’re busy getting medals pinned to their chests and being puppets with government hands shoved a mile up their ass, we make the world go ‘round.”

Hanzo stared at him blankly. “I do not do the work of men who have not the stomachs to do it themselves.” He murmured, low and menacing. A lie. 

There was a snort from the other man, almost as if he’d read the bluff. 

“We offer protection, for people with something to hide.” The man countered almost instantly. 

Hanzo’s eyes went wide, nostrils flaring in anger. Before he could even think he had moved forward, encircling the man’s neck with his bow and using it to jerk him violently into the light from the balcony. The man caught himself, a single steel-reinforced boot landing in the bit of blood pooling around the still-warm corpse. He steadied himself, remaining with his back to Hanzo and giving only a subtle glance over his shoulder. 

“You know nothing of me.” Hanzo whispered, eyes trailing up the armored spine of the man’s hoodie, up to the hood that was drawn down over his eyes. Only the lower half of his face was visible, the strong bridge of a nose, dark skin, and  darker facial hair. On his lips there was no hint of the self-assured smirk Hanzo heard in the way the man spoke.  

“Not as much as I’d like to, but I know you’re running from someone.” He responded. Hanzo couldn’t see his eyes, he felt the man’s challenging stare. “Work for me.” The man came again, gloved hands clenched at his sides. Hanzo watched his lips move as he spoke, and then press into a tight line as he awaited a response.

The silence that fell was palpable, Hanzo’s shoulders rising and falling as his temper all but subsided.

“No.” Hanzo finally said, firmly. 

If Hanzo’s answer came as a surprise to the man, it didn’t show on his face. He simply took a step forward, squatting before the corpse and running his gloved hands over the old man’s front, patting him down. He seemed to find what he was looking for in the pocket of the man’s vest, pulling a cellphone free and stashing it away in his own pocket. 

“Then you’re dismissed.” He stood to his feet, turning away from Hanzo and moving back towards the door. He stopped, just a sliver of his face visible as he cocked his head toward Hanzo. He stayed like that for a time, almost as if he were contemplating whether or not to say what was on his mind, before ultimately deciding on doing so. “You didn’t catch wind of any rumors about a Deadlock member, did you?” The man said finally, before adding, “‘Quickshot’, I think it was.” 

Hanzo’s face didn’t even flinch. He thought of the coordinates saved on the drive in his pocket, of the small message he’d left, of the half-hearted attempt he would make to potentially spark a chain of events, and step back from them without a word as if he’d never been there at all. He still needed a way to actually  _ get _ said information to this man, but he had an idea. Every criminal organization had its networking, a way of transferring and storing information and other important things. The Deadlocks were no different. It was only a matter of  _ finding _ it. 

Before Hanzo could reply, the man gave a snort. “Forget it.” He said, smirk dropping from his face entirely while he shook his head. When he did so, the dim light in the room managed to catch along the weathered grooves in his flesh, two scars slashing across the curve of the man’s cheekbones. They disappeared along with the rest of the figure as he ducked back into the shadows. 

Hanzo blinked at the darkness where once the man had stood, unable to keep from wondering about what would have happened had he only said something different, accepted the offer presented to him. He wouldn’t say he felt any regret—only the distinct lack of closure of an end cut loose, and the vague feeling in his chest that it would never again be tied down. 

Turning on his heel, he gave one last look at the two bodies on either side of him, giving a huff as he moved to the balcony and skillfully, silently propelled himself over the side of it, descending the building and feeling the crunch of the dry earth beneath his feet. 

He forced his feet forward and the thoughts back to the edges of his mind where he could not dwell on them. He felt for the small drive in his pocket a final time, and padded out of the base as quickly as he could move. 

He had one last thing to do.

 

* * *

 

Fingers tightened around his Peacekeeper’s grip as Jesse stepped through the doors. They creaked open and swung shut behind him as he stepped into what looked like any other shoddy Route 66 tavern—but Jesse knew better. His hand fell away, the metal of his gun no longer a cool comfort against the palm of his hand.

A part of him hoped he wouldn’t have to use it.

Jesse’s boot collided with something, and he looked down to see a shot glass rolling across the wooden floor. It knocked against what looked like a bullet lodged in the floor, and Jesse smiled wistfully. He’d been the one who put it there, after all.

“Closed.” A voice called from what sounded like the next room over. In the thin silvery light that filtered in through the windows, he could make out a figure using a rag to towel off the bar. “Go find somewhere else to get boosied up, pendejo.”

Despite the gravel that the man’s voice has accumulated in the years Jesse had been gone, he recognized the familiar accent. He took a step forward, a shaft of moonlight falling over his face. The figure turned his head up, scanning Jesse for a long while before finally clicking his tongue in disbelief. Like an epiphany, Jesse saw confusion and then stark recognition appear and disappear from the man’s face, until it morphed into a cool, unfathomable stare and a hollow curve of his lips.

“My bad. I’ve always got drinks for an old friend,” The man started, a smiled spreading wolfishly across his face. His teeth flashed white in the moonlight, and Jesse felt his blood running cold as the man turned in a way that was far too methodical to be casual. He could hear the clinking of glass bottles as the man rifled through the selection, pulling some off and inspecting them. “What is it you like? You like tequila? I just got back from visiting family in Guadalajara. Came home with somethin’ nice. ”

“How’s your mom doin’?” Jesse took another brave step towards the bar, eyes glued on the man’s hand as it reached beneath it. He knew what to expect, but he didn’t reach for his gun, instead planting his hands flat against the counter top.

There wasn’t a single flinch from Jesse when the barrel of a gun was shoved in his face, knocking his hat off and to the ground. “She’s doin’ real good. Shot my old man dead a month ago when he tried to beat her.” He shrugged casually, gun cocking to the side for just a moment before he pressed it flush between Jesse’s eyes. “You still a blue falcon son of a bitch, Quickshot?”

The rumbling laughter wasn’t what the man was expected, which showed clearly in the way his dark face twisted up.

“Come on now, Fargo.” Jesse came, lazy smile still spread across his features. “It ain’t how it looks.”

Fargo snorted at that, and Jesse heard the metallic click as he thumbed the hammer back.

“Bullshit. Everyone knows you’ve spent the last decade givin’ cabeza to Reyes to keep yourself outta the big house. You left us for dead.” Fargo turned his head to the side, his free hand smoothing the curly black hair back from the nape.  When he stretched out his neck, Jesse could see what looked like bands of metal fused with his flesh, like some sort of patchwork. It expanded and contracted with his flesh as he breathed, the inorganic and the organic melding together in a way that mimicked natural. “You left  _ me  _ for dead.” He finished, whipping the gun flat across Jesse’s cheek.

Jesse grit his teeth and hissed in pain, a hand coming up to hold his face. He could feel the coppery taste of blood swimming in the back of his mouth, and he swallowed. He remembered clearly seeing Fargo crumpled under Reyes’s boot, clutching a chunk of blown-off flesh against his neck as blood streamed between his fingers. He didn’t remember what curses the man had been shouting, Jesse’s own blood pounding in his ears as Reyes dragged him from that desert warehouse by the scruff of his neck.

When Jesse glanced up, his expression was calm.

“You been watchin’ the news, Fargo?” He asked, making a face as he prodded one of his molars with his tongue, checking to see if it had been knocked loose. Fargo was now leaning against the bar top, staring straight at him with the gun sitting beneath Jesse’s chin.

“I heard about Zurich.” Tilting the other man’s chin up with his gun, Fargo gave a snort. “Isn’t that why you’re here? Crawlin’ back to us since your new friends got blown to hell?”

Jesse could read the anger in the man, could see the way his fingers were itching to pull the trigger and paint the walls with Jesse’s brains. If he didn’t want to end up like fallen cherry pie from the shoulders up, he had to play his cards right—because Jesse knew without a doubt that even if Fargo was a gambling man with a long fuse, by the time he had a gun in his hands, he was done playing nice.

Luckily, Fargo had never managed to beat Jesse at cards.  

“Overwatch had it coming.” Jesse half-lied, his expression hardening. “You thought of why I’m standin’ here in one piece, instead of bein’ a spot of red snow in the Swiss Alps?”   

“Luck.” Fargo countered, putting a little more force behind the gun.

Jesse had to give a nod at that. Fair enough.

After a moment the gun shifted ever so slightly, the metal not biting into the flesh beneath his jaw quite so hard. Fargo pressed his mouth into a thin line as if in contemplation, rubbing the index finger of his free hand over his chapped lips.

“You know, I got some talk a few months ago—” The man started, and Jesse held his breath. “—said that you’d abandoned Overwatch. Gone underground. I kept waitin’, watchin’ the news and keepin’ my eyes out for some kind of a reason.” The man shook his head, laughing slightly. “I even tried tracking you, but you didn’t want to be found.”

Jesse smirked back, letting out a light chuckle. It was true. He’d ducked out when he realized the wedge that had been shoved between the two commanders wasn’t going anywhere. He’d wondered what it would build up to, the great rift that had opened up between Morrison and Reyes, the infighting like a plague that bubbled up from it and ate Overwatch up from the inside out like something necrotic.

Overwatch had become like a bomb waiting to go off, the maddening  _ tick-tick-tick _ of time passing with no resolution driving everyone insane.

Jesse just hadn’t expected the explosion to be  _ literal. _

He thought of his family—it had been ripped apart long before Zurich. Losing Ana Amari had been the first crack in the foundation. He remembered sitting around a table over a year after Ana had disappeared. Lena, Torbjörn, Winston, and Reinhardt were all present, and there was a little cake with overly-sweet icing and a handful of candles decorating the top. Angela had lead Fareeha in with her hands clasped over the teenage girl’s eyes, before lifting them away. He remembered the way Fareeha’s face had lit up for the first time in months, and the way that light faltered when neither Jack nor Gabriel remembered to wish her a happy birthday that year. 

Fareeha had made a joke about how her mother would have dragged them down there by their ears and made them sing to her. She forced out a laugh, as if to convince herself it wasn’t all beginning to crumble around them.

Through his mind flashed another vivid memory of Gabriel’s hand fisted in his collar, growling into Jesse’s ear that there was no place for deserters in Blackwatch, and that he’d better not have to do what he should’ve done long ago instead of bringing Jesse back like a stray dog from his mission on Route 66.

Jesse reckoned he could infer what that meant if the feeling of a gun pressing into his gut was anything to go by, and he didn’t want to think about the possibility of Gabriel really meaning it. With shaky hands he’d forced himself to believe that Gabriel was looking out for him, trying to keep him tough and dedicated like he’d always done in their difficult line of work. Gabriel didn’t want to lose another agent, especially not Jesse.

When he’d seen the way Gabriel was starting to look at Jack, he wasn’t so sure of that anymore. He didn’t know if being a friend really meant what it used to mean to Gabriel in the old days. Jesse’s faith in Commander Reyes had been shaken, so he did what he did best—he disappeared, nothing more than a ghost to slip like fine sand through Blackwatch’s fingers.

Like Fargo said: he didn’t want to be found.

Jesse swallowed his memories like a bitter taste sitting heavy on the back of his tongue.

The gun jabbed into his throat again.

“So you’re sayin’ that explosion was you?” Fargo said, eyes narrowing. “And I’m supposed to believe it?”

Jesse pressed back against the gun, leaning forward against the bar as well. The space between their faces was growing smaller, the two staring at each other hard. Jesse was unflinching, the gun following him down as he slouched, eyes never breaking from the other man’s.

“If me standin’ here isn’t enough proof of that, maybe it’s the fact that you’re still breathin’.” Jesse said, tilting his head to the side and staring down the bridge of his nose at the man. Fargo’s eyebrows raised, and he brought a hand to his chin, licking his lips pensively. “The underground’s most notorious criminal databanker and informant? You’d have been a deadman a long time ago.” Jesse continued, his tone grave. He hoped he wasn’t laying it on too thick, and so he merely looked forward, lips curling into a lazy smile.

Fargo never could read Jesse’s bluffs.

The truth was, Fargo had been just smart and slippery enough to evade them all these years. He supposed that was lucky, now, all those failed attempts at finding the information broker.

The gun lowered. Slowly. Reluctantly. It clattered against the bar, Fargo letting out a loud huff.

“You know, I’ve been dyin’ to put a few bullets in your head for a while now, Quickshot.” The man came, sounding disappointed as he tucked the gun in the waistband of his trousers. “Guess I can just wait until the next time you piss me off.”

Jesse’s shoulders relaxed. He had to force himself not to look too relieved.

The man grabbed something from under the bar, clinking it against the counter. It was a rather ornate looking bottle of tequila. Jesse picked it up, inspecting. His eyes passed over the label idly, more in an attempt to seem casual as two glasses clinked down against the lacquered wood of the bar.

“So,” Fargo started, topping off both glasses. Jesse watched the golden liquid pool into the cups, catching the aroma of it. “You’re here for a reason. What is it?” He said, tone all business as he slid the shot glass across the counter.

Jesse caught the glass against his palm, before bringing it to his lips and tilting it back. His mind briefly passed over the idea of the drink being poisoned, but he immediately discarded it. He knew damn well that Fargo wouldn’t waste good booze like that.    

Jesse still felt a little better what he saw the man knock his own drink back.

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a small chrome cylinder, about half the length of his thumb with what looked like a glowing blue barcode engraved into it. It was attached to a small and worn silver chain, like it had been worn around someone’s neck for quite some time. Jesse swung it around on his index finger, before tossing it up and catching it in his palm.

Fargo gave him a nod, beckoning for Jesse to follow. Jesse pushed himself up from the bar, following the man until he suddenly halted before Jesse.

“ _ That _ stays up here.” He pointed to Jesse’s gun, before reaching into his waistband, and pulling out his own. He held it up like a peace offering, before resting it against the bar next to the empty shot glasses. Jesse reluctantly followed suit, pulling his Peacekeeper from the holster and setting it down.

He followed Fargo into the back, through some sort of makeshift kitchen. Jesse wasn’t surprised when Fargo unlocked a simple wooden door, which opened up and turned out to be reinforced steel on the other side. The two stepped inside, Fargo pulling it shut behind them.

Inside there was a dimly lit staircase that ran parallel to the main building and dipped down low. It curled down around the building, until opening up into a large underground room. It was lined with rows of sleek black boxes, each one with a small hole in the very center that was just the size of the cylindrical key Jesse held in his hand.

Jesse took the lead from here, making his way to the rows until he finally made his way to his own box. The key slid smoothly into the lock, the glowing ring around the lock flashing blue once, before the doors slid back.

A grin quickly spread across Jesse’s face as he saw the contents of the lockbox. He reached forward, sliding his hand along the top of the box with the same fondness with which one might stroke a lover’s cheek. He took it in his hand, bringing it close to his chest.

Fargo’s face dropped, as he saw what it was.

“Cigars?” He came with a touch of incredulity in his voice, eyebrows furrowed. Jesse flipped the lid open, staring at the perfectly arranged rows of cigars, packaged neatly as the day he’d smuggled them.

“These aren’t just any cigars. Been waitin’ to smoke these ever since I came back from Havana when I was seventeen.” Jesse said, closing the lid carefully and latching it shut, before tucking the box under his arm. He pressed a button, the lockbox door sliding shut, and ejecting the key. Jesse plucked it out and shoved it back in his pocket, before moving past Fargo, who simply pursed his lips before waving a hand nonchalantly.

“Whatever it is, you know how this goes.” He said, leading Jesse back. “I helped you, so what have you got for me?” His voice echoed along with their footsteps as they walked up the stairs. Jesse knew what Fargo wanted, knew the currency of his trade. He wanted information. Secrets. Anything dark, anything incriminating. His specialty was always blackmail and manipulation.

Jesse had gathered more than his fair share of those things during his time in Blackwatch, but he wasn’t ready to spill quite yet.

They came back into the main bar, Jesse pulling up a stool. Fargo fired up a small lamp this time, the warm glow filling the room and chasing out the cold moonlight. He leaned against the bar top, unscrewing the bottle of tequila once more. Jesse slid his Peacekeeper back into its holster.

“So you want me to repay you, huh?” Jesse said, smirking as he kicked his boots up on a nearby table, leaning casually against the bar. “Few more shots of that and I just might start singin’ like a goddamn lark.”  

“That’s what I’m hopin’ for.” Fargo said, topping off the glasses once more. “So sing. Tell me how you did it.”

The atmosphere in the bar shifted, as Jesse weighed his choices.

Jesse brought the glass before his face, his expression distant as he rolled the liquid around. “Did what?” He came, sounding far away. Asking wasn’t  _ really  _ necessary—he knew exactly what Fargo meant. He watched their shadows being cast on the far wall, dark shapes dancing across the wood like flickering silhouettes.

“You know what I mean.”

Jesse didn’t want to think about the Swiss headquarters, but the truth was there had been nothing on his mind since. The hollow ache in his chest at the pictures he’d seen still felt as fresh as the day he’d heard the news.

_ Jack Morrison—dead. _

_ Gabriel Reyes—dead. _

A hundred others, nothing more than names on a list, what remained of their bodies buried under rubble and snow. They would be honored in their home countries, sure, but he’d known them, seen them with his own eyes. They’d wanted to change the world, eager to fight and die for something real. That truth had been a long time coming to Jesse, but when it came, it hit him like a blow to the gut.

There was nothing  _ real _ about the way they’d died. 

Jesse’s fingers brushed against his gun. He was  _ tired _ —tired of keeping his head down like a criminal, tired of feeling guilty just for surviving, and tired of playing games with people.

“Do you hold a grudge, Fargo?” Jesse came all of a sudden, breaking the silence that had settled over them. Watching as the flame flickered off to his side, he let his boots drop back down to the ground with a solid thud.

“What are you talking about?” The man responded curtly, knocking back his glass and filling it once more. Jesse set his own glass off to the side, untouched.

“Do you believe in revenge?” Dragging a hand through his hair as he spoke, Jesse let his eyes slip shut, relishing the feeling of the cool metal against his palm.

There was a thoughtful hum as Fargo pondered the question. After a moment he spoke. “If someone screws me over, I get even.” He came finally and simply, before adding with a slight snort, “I’m not really in the business of ‘forgive and forget’.”

Jesse seemed to think on that for a long while, his other hand dragging across his lower lip as he turned.

“That’s a damn shame.” He came, his tone heavy and unapologetic as he cocked his gun, thumbed back the hammer, and put a bullet between Fargo’s eyes before the man even had time to do so much as blink.

The poor bastard crumpled into a heap behind the bar. Jesse didn’t make a move, tucking his Peacekeeper back into the holster and reaching for his glass of tequila. He swirled it around once or twice, before bringing it to his lips and downing it in one go. He let the flavor pool in the back of his mouth before swallowing, letting it burn its way down his throat like molten honey.

When he finished he placed the cup back down, giving an unrepentant glance to the pool of red creeping from behind the bar. He narrowed his eyes. Fargo wasn’t—hadn’t been—a good person. It didn’t take a priest or a rocket scientist to figure that much out. For a moment he felt like he was back in Blackwatch, blood on his hands, on his boots, with one less criminal living and breathing.

In his memories, Jesse was standing over the corpse of one of their hits, a rogue business woman who had been funding foreign terror attacks. They’d called Blackwatch because they wanted her taken out quietly, wanted to keep those events on foreign shores, keep people from connecting it back to America. It would cause hysteria otherwise, they said. Do it for the  _ public. _

In the end, Jesse had been separated by an ambush, found the target, and taken the killshot. By the time Gabriel could rush in with the other agents, there was Jesse’s smoking gun and a woman with a hole in her head that told them all that they needed to know.

Now, looking at Fargo’s blood seeping into the floors, Jesse half expected to turn and see Gabriel Reyes standing behind him, giving him a single squeeze on the shoulder before turning away.

_ Good work, Jesse. _ The Gabriel in his mind’s eye said.  _ You did it with one bullet this time _ .

It wasn’t the Gabriel with the seething eyes, with words that stung and that threatened to unload a shotgun into Jesse’s chest. It wasn’t the Gabriel who looked at Jack Morrison with that certain brand of hate, the kind of hate that only occurred when it had started out as something else. It was the Gabriel from  _ before _ , the one who stood strong for years before he started coming apart.

That Gabriel would’ve been  _ proud  _ of him.

That Gabriel was the only reason he was sitting here, gloved hand resting on a case of expensive Cuban cigars with a dead man at his feet. 

He flipped open the box of cigars, pulling the first one—the only one already cut—to his lips. He brought his lighter to the end of it, waiting for the flame to catch. When it did he inhaled, pocketing the lighter and letting the taste and smell of the smoke invade his senses. It was a good cigar.  

He felt the heavy wave of nostalgia trap itself in the confines of his ribcage like a mountain of lead.

When he’d told Gabriel what he had stored away in his lockbox at the Deadlock databanks, the man has responded with a joke about finding some excuse to raid the place, as long as Jesse let him smoke a few. Jesse half-believed him, especially when he passed Gabriel in the hall the next day. Gabriel pulled him to the side and held out the black cylindrical key he’d confiscated from him when he first joined Blackwatch. He’d put it on a thin chain that coiled up as he dropped it into Jesse’s hand. 

_ Don’t lose that.  _ Gabriel snorted, brushing past him.

Jesse hadn’t dared to.

He looked back to the cigars, running his fingers over the top of them idly until something caught his attention. Fingers paused over one of the cigars which was raised ever so slightly above the rest, no more than a millimeter. Carefully he plucked that particular cigar up, his eyes falling over what was undoubtedly a small data drive. He looked at it for a long time, before picking it up and holding it in the palm of his hand.

He’d never seen it before in his life, and that fact only helped to fan the flames of his curiousity. 

He immediately pulled out his Overwatch communicator. It was deactivated, but at least it had a use as something more than a bittersweet reminder. Plugging the drive into the device, he watched as it was scanned, before a single document appeared on the screen. It blinked at Jesse, flickering temptingly and waiting to be opened.

He didn’t hesitate a second more to do so. The communicator projected the document—it was a long list of what appeared to be coordinates. His eyes drifted down the column of numbers. 

Fifteen sets of coordinates, a space, and six more. At the bottom of that was a short message.

_ do what you will _

Jesse stared at the small note that had been typed at the very bottom, the cryptic words flickering before his eyes offering more questions than answers.  

He didn’t know how to react—it was likely a trap, a way to get back at Jesse if he ever decided to come back down to the old lockbox. Then again, it seemed a bit too indirect for the Deadlocks. He chewed the end of his cigar pensively, before shoving the communicator back into his pocket, and pushing himself up from the bar. He latched the case of cigars carefully, tucking it under his arm as he bent down low to sweep his hat off the floor.

He didn’t give a single look behind him as he pushed through the door, combing his metal fingers through his hair and placing his hat back where it belonged.   

He didn’t know what he’d find, what to expect. All he knew was that for the first time in a while he felt a fire sparking to life in his stomach that felt strangely like a purpose.

That alone was enough for him to seize and run with for as long as he could manage.

 

* * *

 

A gust of London breeze passing gently over him woke Jesse from his slumber. His eyes opened to an empty bed, something that wouldn’t have surprised him if not for the impression of another body in the mattress beside him where the sheets had been tangled and thrown back. There was a ghost sensation of body heat, as if he’d spent the night with an arm slung around his waist, or with someone pressed against his front.

He rolled over, still caught in the haze of his mind as his eyes drifted groggily around. Across the room he could make out the red light of a coffeemaker that hissed with steam as it filled itself with fresh coffee.

His eyes moved further, and the tightness in his chest was dispelled by the sight of Hanzo leaning against the balcony railing.

On the other side of a glass door left partially ajar, the man clutched a cup of coffee in his hand, staring out over the sprawl of the city. The breeze whipped a few strands of his hair around carelessly, Hanzo every once in a while combing them back with his fingers as he brought his mug to his lips. Jesse’s eyes lingered on strong, lean legs that stretched from his briefs, or the somewhat wrinkled cotton shirt that drifted just barely up for a moment and then back down each time the wind rustled it. He looked peaceful, against the grey skies that rumbled with the promise of an early morning storm.

Hanzo turned to look at him almost as if he’d sensed the eyes on him. Jesse swallowed, not realizing until that moment that he’d been staring.

In an effort to make it casual, Jesse relaxed back against the pillows with a stretch, tucking his arms behind his head and letting a lazy smile curl its way across his features.

Hanzo pushed back from the railing and slipped in through the door, shutting it behind him gently.

“I did not mean to wake you.” Hanzo muttered, tone unapologetic but features soft.

Jesse took note of the slight change in the other’s demeanor, chewing the inside of his lip as he looked at Hanzo curiously for a moment, before giving a light chuckle. “Wasn’t you.” He lied, leaning up from the bed. “Smelled coffee.”

Feet on the floor, Jesse sat on the edge of the mattress and dug at his eyes with the palms of his hands, rubbing away the sleep.

Hanzo topped off his coffee, stifling a yawn behind his hand as he emptied another packet of sugar into it. He heard the creak of the bed as Jesse lifted up, and the sound of rustling clothes as he searched for something. When he turned, the man was tugging his pants up over his hips, buttoning them as he walked over.

Hanzo sucked in a breath, body stiff as he waited for some sort of confirmation that what they’d done actually happened, that the marks across his thighs, his chest, his collar that he’d lingered over in the shower that morning weren’t just a trick of shoddy bathroom lights.

It didn’t come instantly, Jesse reaching past him and going for the coffee, pouring himself a mug and setting it aside as he began his usual ritual of adding a bit of cream and far too much sugar. He leaned casually against the table, stirring his coffee and giving the other man a contemplative look. His eyes scanned Hanzo’s face, as if he were trying to gauge something by his expression.  

“Mornin’.”Jesse said finally, turning mostly back to his coffee as he set the stirrer aside. He gave Hanzo a sidelong glance, smiling behind the brim of his mug as he took a sip. “If you’re waitin’ for me to kiss you, I was goin’ to brush my teeth first.” He said slyly, laughing silently to himself as he straightened out, leaving Hanzo pursing his lips and grimacing behind his own mug. He didn’t dignify it with a response.

Jesse sighed, corners of his lips still upturned as he moved to the bathroom. It hadn’t been a joke entirely—he was genuinely filthy, from rummaging through exploded rubble, falling into a river and the subsequently climbing  _ out  _ of said river. Then of course, there was the fact that Hanzo had somehow found him worthy of falling into bed with the night before. Catching sight of himself in the mirror, he couldn’t help but chuckle as he remembered something Hana had said about a ‘rugged cowboy’ look.

_ Maybe Hanzo’s into that, _ he thought, briefly chuckling aloud as he stepped under a stream of hot water.   

His smile died down but never went away completely as he scrubbed himself clean, a warmth in the pit of his stomach as he lathered up his hair and worked away the grit with his fingernails. The ghost warmth of Hanzo’s skin on his had long since disappeared, but he didn’t need the reminder. It was vivid, an archer’s calloused hands skating up his chest, a mouth rough and warm roping him in as he was pulled closer—

Jesse turned the water a bit colder, dunking his head beneath it and letting it chase away the subtle heat that  _ remembering _ had set smoldering just beneath his skin.

He shut it off, grabbing for one of the towels and patting his face dry, before he bent over and hastily dried his hair. 

He emerged from the bathroom in just his underwear, jeans slung over his shoulder before he deposited them on the arm of a chair. He looked up, seeing Hanzo back in the bed, communicator clutched in his hand. He looked to Jesse, setting it aside and clearing his throat.

“Morrison has been working on finding a lead for us, as well as tracking down the source of the information that initially led us astray.” Hanzo stated, as the bed sunk beneath Jesse’s weight when the man plopped down to sit on the edge of it. It was a bit odd, shifting from personal life back to work almost as if the line between them had become indefinitely blurred. Then Jesse looked back to who he was currently in bed with—a fellow agent—and realized he’d probably had a hand in smudging that very line out of existence.

He was determined to prove it wouldn’t be a problem.

Jesse rubbed a finger over his bottom lip pensively, as he thought back to the initial mission debriefing. Their target had been the diplomat of some third party that was looking to affiliate themselves with Talon. Some sort of “new weapon” for Talon—weaponized biotechnology, Angela had speculated. If the whole thing in King’s Row had been a set-up, then there was a chance it ran deeper than an ambush, an explosion, and a sniper who didn’t take their shots.    

“He thinks we’ve got a rat. Someone on the inside leaking information to Talon, feeding lies to us.” Jesse guessed, and Hanzo nodded his head.

“I believe so. The evidence justifying this mission was based on data that could easily be falsified. Transactions, shipments, all to convince us there was something of significance falling into Talon’s hands.” Hanzo responded, inhaling deeply before turning back to Jesse and propping himself up on his elbow. He was silent for a long moment, lips parted as if he wanted to speak, but was mentally grasping for the right words to say. Jesse watched patiently, watching Hanzo’s eyes dart back and then away, back and then away.

After a moment Hanzo knitted his brows, turning to the other man with a firm look on his face, but a look of subtle resignation in his eyes. “I wanted to tell you, Jesse…” Hanzo began hesitantly. Jesse thought he could feel his pulse quicken at the soft way Hanzo said his name, lingering over the syllables like they were something of importance. He listened raptly as Hanzo continued, this time forcing it out quickly. “—and I find it easiest to use your own words when I say this.”

Shaking his head lightly, Hanzo allowed the corners of his lips to pull into a thin smile.

“You are… impressive. Figuring this out, acting on your own to find answers to questions we did not even know to ask.” He admitted, smile fading away as quickly as it came and leaving him looking at Jesse with an expression that was vacant, unguarded, and raw. He was unwavering as Jesse pulled himself onto the bed, drifting closer. “And then you stopped me. From tossing myself away for a lie, for the sake of a mission that might very well mean nothing. I would have been glad to do it, but you would not let me.” Hanzo’s jaw was tight as he finished, his words frank and honest. 

For what seemed like the hundredth time since he’d met Hanzo, Jesse couldn’t think of a damn thing to say.

Hanzo seemed to pick up on this, and either out of pity or the desire to spare himself from Jesse’s wordless fumbling, he pressed his mouth firmly to the other man’s. There was a surprised hitch of breath from Jesse as their mouths knocked together, before he leaned into the kiss with the slide of his palm against Hanzo’s cheek.

Jesse received him easily, letting himself fall back against the mattress as Hanzo moved closer and pressed him against it. Fingers smoothed through damp brown hair, stroking it back against the pillow as they breathed in and out softly through their noses, mouths too occupied to be concerned with anything else.

All too soon Hanzo broke away, Jesse raising his head slightly in a vain attempt to chase the fleeting warmth of the other man’s lips. He blinked a few times, metal hand coming up to rest in the curve of Hanzo’s waist. Hanzo seemed to welcome the touch, leaning into it subtly.

Jesse’s heart was racing a mile a minute, his face burning as he forced his tongue to comply.

“It was luck,” Jesse started weakly, flushed down to his chest. “—Right place, right time. Any one of us could’ve—”

“You performed exceptionally.” Hanzo cut him off quickly. “And you have my thanks. Take it. I do not intend to repeat myself.”  

Jesse chuckled at that, looking away and biting the inside of his cheek. The feeling of soft hair tickling his cheeks and his chest as Hanzo leaned over him only made him more aware of how close they were, something which shouldn’t have seemed as significant as it did to him in that moment. His metal fingers curled in against Hanzo’s waist, like they didn’t want to let go of something Jesse feared would slip between the spaces.

When he glanced back, something in the way Hanzo looked at him had changed, and Jesse could feel the low smoldering in his belly as a hand moved up his chest. Hanzo languidly slid himself atop the other man until he was straddling his hips, expression so naturally intense and piercing it made Jesse shiver down to his bones. “Though perhaps I owe you more than just my thanks.” Hanzo whispered, claiming Jesse’s lips once more in another closed-mouth kiss.

“You—“ Jesse started, breathing deep through his nose as he ran his hands up Hanzo’s sides, accidentally hiking the cotton shirt up as he did so. “—don’t owe me a damn thing.” He finished huskily, murmuring against Hanzo’s lips as his hands grazed his bare skin.

Hanzo seemed pleased by the touch, doubling his efforts to fill the spaces between their bodies and press himself flush against Jesse as he kissed him harder. “What do you want?” Hanzo asked breathlessly, clawing a hand through the other man’s tousled hair to push it back out of their faces.

The answer came to Jesse in the blink of an eye, and a part of him begged himself not to think it, not to want it, and  _ certainly  _ not to say it and risk ruining the moment. A long moment stretched between them, their chests rising and falling out of sync as the sound of their breathing and the beginnings of rainfall against the windows became the only sounds in the room.

_ You’re a sucker, Jesse McCree,  _ Jesse thought to himself as he rolled Hanzo over, pressing him into the mattress and pressing their lips together in a kiss that was brief and chaste before pulling back. His eyes scanned Hanzo’s face, as he let out a heavy sigh of concession.  _ A sucker and a god-damned sentimental bastard. _

“To know you.”

Jesse was all quiet confidence when he spoke, and slowly he watched as a myriad of emotions passed over Hanzo’s face, until settling on an expression that was vaguely exasperated, Hanzo giving a sidelong glance to the wall. The hand on Jesse’s neck stilled, before Hanzo turned back to him, tugging him back down and kissing him in a transparent attempt at distraction, dissuasion.

“Is that really what you want?” Hanzo muttered against Jesse’s skin as he mouthed his way along the man’s jaw, knowing his question had been more rhetorical than anything.

Shuddering at the sensation of teeth scraping lightly against his neck, Jesse shuddered, a flush of arousal making its way down to his groin. He muffled a groan, metal fingers gripping the sheets as he tried to stave off his body’s response. It was hard, when he wanted the man beneath him as badly as he did.

Hanzo knew it, too.

“Ain’t gonna work.” Jesse chuckled lightly, voice somewhat strained as he knitted his brows. It seemed more like a bluff than anything. He was about to let the last thread of his restraint snap, would’ve been happy to—Hanzo couldn’t escape the question forever. It didn’t have to be now that he answered it.

Hanzo snorted softly at that, bringing his mouth back to Jesse’s and kissing him gently before trailing his lips further. “That does not seem to be the case.” He teased into Jesse’s ear, thigh sliding between the other man’s legs to feel the proof of his interest.

Jesse bit his lip to stifle a groan, hands instantly moving to Hanzo’s wrists and pinning them back against the mattress. He looked at Hanzo hard, watching as the man went still beneath him. He looked defeated, fingers curling in towards his palms as he regarded Jesse with a vacant expression.

“I have allowed you to know me quite thoroughly,” Hanzo said, lids falling so that his lashes shaded his eyes as they darted away. “More than once.”

“That ain’t what I mean.” Jesse said, sliding his palm into Hanzo’s and interlocking their fingers. The faint smile that crossed Hanzo’s lips at the gesture didn’t elude the other man, Jesse giving a small smile of his own response.

“You think that because I made the decision to sleep with you, I have to spill my secrets?” Hanzo’s tone was not as biting as it could have been, his words not cutting as deeply as they could have. “The talk of others is not enough to sate you, I suppose.” He added bitterly.

“Told you before,” Jesse said, leaning down and giving Hanzo a playful smirk. “I don’t listen to talk.”

“Perhaps you should.” Hanzo said, quieter. For just a moment in his mind, he was back in Nepal, sipping warm sake by the fire as winter winds carded through his hair. He was repeating the same words to the same man, who was just as stubborn and insatiable as he was now. It was a good memory, and Hanzo couldn’t force himself to feel upset, only mystified. Confused, but relenting. He narrowed his eyes and stared up at Jesse, the slight quirk of his lip becoming more apparent as he spoke again. “But…you are persistent.”

A lazy smile curled its way across Jesse’s features, as he was unable to resist giving Hanzo’s hands a light squeeze. “Serves me well, don’t it?” He teased, the rumble of his laughter melting in with the low sound of thunder from outside. “Tell me somethin’. Don’t matter what it is.”

Hanzo let out a sigh, returning the smile as letting his head fall off to the side as he thought of what to tell Jesse. The cool sheets felt soothing against his cheeks, which he hadn’t noticed until now were burning. His eyes flicked to the windowed door that led to the balcony, watching the rain hit and then spatter against the glass. It cast a strange bunch of splotchy shadows into the darkened room, some them moving in time with the drops that slithered their way down to pool on the balcony floor.

He thought of his kiseru, an antique one of his elder clansmen had given to him one year, long ago.

_ Too obsolete. _

He thought of the obvious one, to speak of his brother. However, it seemed like too sore of a subject, one that Hanzo still loathed to speak about. Jesse had probably heard about it in whispers many times, and Hanzo wasn’t ready to confirm or deny those rumors just yet.

Suddenly, his mind flicked back to Nepal once more, to when they were drinking under the moonlight. Jesse had stared up at the stars, taking a long drag from a cigar before asking if Hanzo had ever been to America.

“I lied.” Hanzo came matter-of-factly, turning his face back to Jesse. The man blinked at him in confusion, having no idea of what the man was referring to. Jesse released his hands, climbing off of the man and flopping off to the side. Tucking his arms behind his head, he cast a vaguely worried look to the ceiling.

Hanzo scooted himself up just enough to lean back against the pile of pillows they had between the two of them. “I told you that I had not been to America before joining Overwatch. In truth, I had come once before.” 

Jesse seemed to have been holding back the breath he suddenly released all at once, relieved that  _ that  _ was the lie Hanzo had told him. He cocked an eyebrow, looking to Hanzo with a bemused look tugging at his features. “So what was it? Disneyland?”

Hanzo scoffed at that. “You wanted something. There’s your something.” Hanzo crossed his arms over his chest, smirking back at the other man. “Your turn.”

Jesse balked at him momentarily, before pursing his lips. “So that’s how this is gonna go.” He muttered, running his fingertips over his mouth idly. He drummed them for a moment, filing through his thoughts for something, anything that stuck out. His mind drew a blank, and so he let his head loll back against the pillows in defeat.

As if sensing the man’s difficulty, Hanzo cut his eyes to him. “Tell a story.” He offered. “You have a…suitable voice for it.” Hanzo added after a moment, tapering off like it was something he was reluctant to admit.

Jesse half-considered snatching his hat off the floor, just so he could tug the brim down low as he smiled like a damn fool. He didn’t, instead tucking his hands back behind his head. “What about?”

Hanzo pondered the question for a time, eyes flicking around the room until they rested on the communicator that lay on the bedside table, the Overwatch symbol staring proudly back at him. “How did you find your way into Overwatch?” Hanzo decided it was just as easy or difficult a question as Jesse wished to make it.

A bit of laughter bubbled up instantly from the man beside him, and Hanzo could help but turn, arching an eyebrow. Jesse scratched at his chin as he leaned back, shaking off the initial amusement that seemed to have caught the other man off guard.

“I didn’t.” Jesse snorted, shaking his head “God, I was dragged spittin’ and cursin’ by my collar all the way. It ain’t a good story.”

“Tell me anyway.” Hanzo pressed, seeming entertained enough by the imagery, rolling onto his side and resting his head in the palm of his hand as he listened. Jesse seemed to relent, settling back as he mulled over his words for a moment.

“You know I was Deadlock, before that. Just a—“ Jesse took a moment to search for the right words, “—a good for nothin’ criminal. Not doin’ a damn thing with my life, thinkin’ that just because I could shoot a dime out of the air that meant no one could touch me.”

The smile on Jesse’s face started to fade, his voice taking on a solemn note.

“Thought at the time that the Deadlocks were my messed up little family, and I did what I had to do to get in good with ‘em. But the whole time I think I was lookin’ for a way out, and it when it came, it came like the sun.” Jesse made a motion with his hands, splaying them out as he stared forward with a glassy look in his eyes, like he was somewhere far away. “Commander Reyes pulled my sorry ass out of there, and I fought him the whole damn time. Couldn’t swallow my pride, and I couldn’t stomach the guilt. That I was the one who got the choice, and didn’t end up lyin’ dead on the floor of some warehouse in Arizona.”

Jesse’s shoulders fell noticeably as he leaned forward to cast a look down to his hands. “Always seems to happen like that.”

Hanzo furrowed his brow at that. “Like what?”

“Gettin’ by on the skin of my teeth. Leavin’ people to die just to save my own tail.” Jesse tried to bite back the sullen sound of an empty chuckle, but it came anyway. “It ain’t always easy, bein’ the lucky one.”

Hanzo suddenly felt like he was intruding, as Jesse no longer looked to him as he spoke, no longer spun his tale in a way that made it seem like some wistful work of fiction. It was intimate, the way the words poured forth like the man was spilling the unsightly bits of his soul.

“It happened again in Zurich. I was never there, but I could’ve been.” Jesse clenched his metal hand into a fist. “Knowin’ the some of the finest people I’d ever met were dead and gone, while I’m still kickin’. It was an injustice. Wasn’t right in the head for a time after that. I went back to Route 66 and started waging some sort of war against the Deadlocks, like I was avengin’ them—Morrison, Reyes, Overwatch—by puttin’ a few more bad guys in the dirt.”

The feeling of skin on his brought Jesse back to reality, a hand nudging against his own. Jesse felt the burning itch in his own fingers, like he’d held them too close to a flame for too long, the desire to take Hanzo’s hand in his. He wanted to bring it close and brush his lips across the man’s knuckles.  

Jesse didn’t, but he waited.

Hanzo cut his eyes over to him in a soft and stern look that seemed to say ‘ _ don’t say a word about this’ _ before he looked back down, purposefully averting his gaze. Hanzo’s fingers slowly tangled with his own, holding him firmly.

Jesse swallowed his heart back down, feeling Hanzo’s touch like an anchor. He started again, determined to finish.

“Lookin’ back it seems like it was the only thing I knew, leavin’ bodies behind everywhere I went.” He sunk down into the pillows, finishing and running his metal hand through his hair. “Overall I did a good thing, I think, tryin’ to break down this empire the Deadlocks had managed to build up. Just wish I’d done it for the right reasons.”

Jesse rolled his cheek against the pillow, the same lazy smile splitting his features as he looked to the man beside him. “Told you it wasn’t a good story. Rambled more than I should have, too.”

Hanzo opened his lips and then closed them once more, as if opting for silence over whatever it had been that he wanted to say. He lifted his head, peering at Jesse for a moment before speaking. “It was a good story. I happen to enjoy your ‘rambling’, as well.”

Jesse almost seemed exasperated by the delicate smile that snuck its way onto Hanzo features. Giving a sigh he rolled over, once more staring at the ceiling with his metal arm tucked behind his head.

“Your turn.”

Hanzo blinked at that, cutting his eyes over to the digital alarm clock that sat on the bedside table. It was still early in the morning, and they were still waiting on something, anything one of the other agents could scrounge up to give them an idea of what they were to do next. He had time for a story, but he didn’t know if he wanted it to be  _ that _ story, of the job he’d taken that had brought him to Route 66.

Suddenly, something flickered in his mind’s eye, a story from much further back that brought with it a certain lightness, as well as a faint tightness in his chest. It seemed better, more suiting. The other was a story for another time.

“My father used to tell my brother and I that if you could make someone laugh, you could make them believe anything.” He started, the barest touch of fondness in his voice. “Being groomed to take his place in the clan, we were taught much that went beyond basic education. How to handle a sword, a bow—practical skills.”

Jesse wondered how shaping people into killing machines qualified as  _ practical _ , but then again, he didn’t have much room to talk. He hadn’t gotten as good with a gun as he was by shooting bottles in the backyard.  

“—Yet my father always had an interest in the arts. They taught grace, control. ‘In the end, everything is an art’ he claimed. So, I studied dutifully and surpassed my brother in all of it.” Hanzo could see his brother beside him, the both of them kneeling before their teacher. Before them sat nothing but a delicate paper fan and a silken cloth, which they both stared down at in thinly-veiled exasperation. “—Nearly, all of it.” Hanzo came, his voice sounding a bit grim.

“We were forced to take lessons in rakugo.” Hanzo’s eyes flitted to Jesse’s, seeing the barest hint of confusion. “Spoken performance. Entertainment in the form of  _ comedy. _ ” He clarified, saying the last word with such disgusted emphasis that Jesse couldn’t help but snort.  

A sudden scenario of Hanzo doing stand-up comedy played in his head, and Jesse laughed aloud at the thought of it. He could only imagine it to be the most dry, painful comedy routine to have ever occurred.

As if he could read Jesse’s mind, Hanzo narrowed his eyes dangerously at the man, pausing his story until the man was finished. Jesse managed to get ahold of himself, still smiling wide as he muttered an apology. Hanzo arched an eyebrow, still giving the man a sly look from the side of his eyes as he continued.

“Genji was much better at it. He was more expressive, more effortless, but he hated it even more than I did.” Hanzo cracked a smile as he spoke. “Our teacher gave him such high praise that eventually my father asked Genji to perform for some important visitors. Genji had seemed so delighted by the prospect that I could only fear for the worst.”

“I think I know where you’re going with this.” Jesse said, chuckling low. He couldn’t help but be enraptured, by the story, by the man’s smile that seemed bright even in the dark of the room. When Hanzo rolled over onto his back, dark hair strewn across the pillows as he let out a rare, quiet bit of laughter, Jesse was stunned. When Hanzo snorted a bit, bringing his unoccupied hand up to his chin as the corners of his eyes crinkled in mirth, the sound of the storm outside was the only thing reminding Jesse that the sun wasn’t shining.

“Genji wrote a story of his own, and it was. . .too obscene to repeat. I would not be able to do it justice.” Hanzo rubbed his brow, snickering to himself. “To say it was pornographic would be an understatement, and my father had to drag Genji away himself while everyone was howling. We never had to take the lessons again, after that.”

The two of them had to take a moment as they laughed, Jesse bringing his thumb up to swipe away a bit of wetness from his eyes at the idea of an elder Shimada, red-faced and dragging Genji away by the scruff of his neck.

Hanzo turned his head back to Jesse as his laughter died down, becoming vaguely aware of the aching in his cheeks. Despite it, the pleased curve of his lips remained. 

Jesse looked back at him too, biting back his lower lip at the look on the other man’s face, hoping that even it was rare, this wouldn’t be the last he saw of it. He squeezed Hanzo’s hand gently, the sound of rain and thunder fading into a pleasant white noise as a comfortable silence settled over them that neither of them had the desire to break.

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...! 
> 
> please kudos and comment if you enjoyed! You can catch me at seijhoe.tumblr.com


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